Shorts
by emeraldorchids
Summary: A collection of one-shots. Originally written for tumblr, reposting here. Miranda/Andrea. Various ratings.
1. Elevator

A/N: If you're on tumblr, you may have noticed I've been taking some prompts. I wanted to share those with the ff community here, so I'm reposting. Each "Chapter" is its own one-shot or self-contained prompt. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Prompt: "After a late night at Runway, Miranda and Andrea get stuck in an elevator. Things get emotional and lead to their sexual desires"**

"You realize this is the last place on earth I want to be right now?"

"And you think I want to be here? Stuck in an elevator—with _you_?"

"Right. Sorry," Andrea said.

"When did Security say someone would be able to fix it?" Miranda asked.

"Umm, he said several hours at least. Apparently there aren't any emergency elevator maintenance companies that can send people out at 2 AM on a Sunday."

"Well, I guess I'm glad I'm not alone in the elevator for once," Miranda said, sighing and leaning back against the corner.

Tonight was a fire drill of sorts. Their layout system had crashed with the latest update, and the issue went to press at midnight. On top of that, Loreal Paris, the advertiser who was sponsoring a new feature section had pulled out at the last minute due to some bad press surrounding a lawsuit, and they had to fill the pages. It was exhilarating, working against a deadline like that. Andrea watched in awe as Miranda wrote most of the copy for the new pages, and for once, that earned a little respect.

But now, they were stuck. Everyone else had left. Miranda stayed until it began to print, and of course that meant Andrea stayed, too. In a surprising gesture of good will, Miranda invited Andrea into the elevator with her and offered her a ride home. She was fairly certain that offer was no longer on the table.

"Why is this the last place on earth you want to be?" Miranda asked quietly.

_Locked in a closed room with the object of your affections is a fantasy of mine, _Andrea thought. No, she could not say that. "I mean no one wants to be stuck in an elevator, right?"

Miranda rolled her eyes. "You said that because of me, didn't you? Stuck here with _me_ is the last place you want to be," she said.

"No! That's not true!" Andrea said in defense. "I mean…" she paused, reining in her emotions as her belly swirled with need. "You're my boss, and you're Miranda Priestly. It's a little scary being in a big, unlocked room with you, if you know what I mean."

Miranda laughed, a full-bodied laugh that made the elevator car shake just a little.

Andrea crossed her legs tighter as she felt wetness pooling against her panties.

"Do you mean to tell me you are still afraid of me, Andrea? You, who can do anything? You really have done the impossible once or twice. I thought I lost you in Paris. I still don't quite believe that story about spilling water on your phone," Miranda said. "You have no reason to be scared of me—I like you, if that's possible. Oh god, what am I saying?" she moaned, bringing her hand up to cover her face. "I'm sitting on the floor of the elevator, confessing my feelings to my assistant!"

Andrea smiled.

"Tell me something, now. This cannot be a one-sided conversation, Andrea."

Andrea took a deep breath. "Promise that whatever is said in the elevator stays in the elevator?"

"Isn't that always the case?"

"Wouldn't know."

"True. Yes, it stays here. Proceed."

"Well," Andrea said nervously, "The reason I said this was the last place I wanted to be was because I've had a dream about this once."

Miranda turned and looked in Andrea's direction. Through the darkness she could barely make out her face. "That's it?"

"Well, it was a very imaginative dream. You were in it."

"Oh," Miranda said. "Ohhhh," she gasped, the realization dawning on her. "Wh—what was the dream about?" Miranda asked, her throat suddenly dry.

"You were pushing someone up against the elevator wall and—"

"Stop."

They sat in silence for several minutes. "I've always wanted to be kissed in an elevator," Andrea said. "It just seems so romantic."

"It's not," Miranda said. "All elevators have this handrail around the sides, and it's too high to sit on, too low to go unnoticed."

"So, you've…in an elevator?"

"Yes."

"Was it a long enough elevator ride? I would always worry it wouldn't be enough time to, you know."

"It was sufficient for him," Miranda said.

"But not you?"

"I don't…I need more than an elevator ride. Let's change the subject. What about you?"

"If it's with the right person, I could easily come in an elevator," Andrea said.

Miranda's eyes widened, though she was sure Andrea could not see that through the darkness.

"Oh! Were you just asking me to change the subject?"

"Obviously you have other ideas," Miranda said.

"Right. Well, I think the thrill of getting caught heightens the senses in an elevator," Andrea said.

"Funny how there is no thrill of getting rescued."

"Isn't there?"

"No. I mean…no."

"I'm sure you could manage to come in the elevator ride down from _Runway. _With the right person," Andrea said.

"Me?"

"No, the other person I'm talking to."

"Cheeky."

"I'm serious, Miranda. What would it take?"

At this, Miranda's eyes widened even more. "You go first," she said.

"Fine," Andrea said. Her panties were already ruined. "Sometimes, just a quick brush of my nipples, then quick pressure to my clit. If I'm tense, it usually needs some biting at my neck to get things going. If I'm by myself, I can usually rub my jeans the right way and that will work, too."

Now Miranda's throat was really dry. "I've never…you can come that quickly?"

Andrea smiled. "Oh yes. I think it's about knowing your body, knowing what you like and don't like. I don't think I've ever come from penetration."

"Really?"

"Yes. Miranda, have you never read anything about sexual health?"

"Er—I don't know. Like what?"

"I don't know, blogs, articles, books. This is not new information."

"I guess I haven't," she said.

"What do you usually do?" Andrea asked.

"When I orgasm? You're asking me what gets me off?" Miranda said.

"Well, yeah, that's what we were talking about."

"Oh my god, I can't believe I'm having this conversation with my assistant in an elevator. Ummm…okay. My breasts. I know they're small, but I like hands on my breasts, squeezing and licking, then maybe a bite."

"Do you come from that?" Andrea asked. She couldn't help it. She had to press her palm to her crotch to dull the ache.

"Well, no. I like—oh god, I'm so embarrassed. I like tongue. Cunnilingus."

Andrea inhaled sharply, then coughed, trying to cover up the fact that she almost came from hearing Miranda say that. "You like to be eaten out?"

"Well, yes, if you prefer that terminology. My first husband was actually quite—well, let's just say he had superior tongue muscles."

"Oh god," Andrea groaned.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Is it getting warm in here?" Miranda asked. "I wonder if the ventilation system has shut down with the outage," she said as she peeled her jacket off, revealing her shimmery ivory blouse stretched tight against her chest.

"How long has it been?" Andrea asked.

"Well I thought you were the one with the cell phone. Mine is still on my desk, remember?"

"Oh, well it's been—fifty-two minutes. But I was asking how long it's been for you, since you've—you know, orgasmed," Andrea said.

Miranda swallowed. "Wh—what do you mean?" she asked unsteadily. She could feel her underwear growing damp.

Andrea scooted closer, now just an arm's length away from the editor. "When was the last time someone ate you out?"

Miranda licked her lips. "I don't even remember. It has been a while."

"How long? Six months? Two years? Ten years?"

"Wh-what about you? When was the last time you came?" Miranda asked. Her voice was suddenly hoarse and an octave lower than normal.

_Almost two minutes ago. _"Last night," Andrea said. "And you?"

"1997."

"What?! As in, _nine years ago_?"

"Yes, I can subtract, thank you."

"So you mean, with Stephen—you never?"

"No. I suppose that was one of the reasons we—well, nevermind."

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Andrea pondered Miranda's revelation. Until now, she never considered that the woman might not be a sexually experienced as she was in her dreams.

As if she were reading her mind, Miranda asked, "What else was I doing in this dream you had—other than pushing someone against the elevator?"

"Uhm, your hands were moving back and forth. You had this sex-crazed look in your eye. And then I woke up."

"Do you have this dream often?"

"No, not really. Just once or twice," Andrea said. "Miranda, have you ever been aroused from a dream?"

"I think we've already established that it's been nine years, Andrea."

"Well, I asked if you've been aroused. When was the last time you ruined a pair of panties?" Andrea asked.

Miranda gasped.

"What would you think if I told you my panties are soaked right now?"

"Oh, um…really? From wh—what?" Miranda stammered.

"You seriously need me to explain how that works? Just talking like this…being locked in here…with you."

Miranda was panting. "I—I—uh, think the ventilation isn't working. It's stuffy in here," she said, fanning herself.

"We're going to be here for a while longer," Andrea said, reaching out and taking Miranda's hand. "Would it be okay if I…touched you?"

"Nooo," Miranda said, but she didn't pull her hand away.

Andrea moved closer and with her other hand, she brushed her fingertips across the silk fabric stretched across her chest. "So this…wouldn't be okay?"

"Unnhh," Miranda groaned.

From this distance, Andrea could see Miranda had her eyes closed tightly, her head tossed back against the wall. She was biting her lip. "It's okay, let it out, Miranda," she said, softly brushing her thumb across the hardened bud that was now visible through the silk. "There's no one here to hear you. No one is judging."

"Oh god," Miranda said, reaching out and grabbing at the jacket she tossed aside.

Andrea gently unbuttoned the first few buttons on her blouse. She slipped her hand inside and softly cupped the woman's breasts through her bra.

"Andrea, stop…_stop_," Miranda said, squirming away and crawling to the other side of the elevator. "This isn't right. I can't let you do this," she said, buttoning up her shirt.

"I don't mind," Andrea said. "Really. I thought 'what happens in the elevator stays in the elevator,'" she said.

"I'm flattered, really, Andrea, but I can't expect you to fix my issues. Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure, but if you decide at some point that you might like to, um…experiment…"

"You will be the first person I call," Miranda said.

Andrea opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the lights flickered on and the car lurched downward. Andrea stood to her feet, grabbing their jackets and bags from the ground. She reached out and helped Miranda to her feet as the elevator made its way to the ground floor.

"Andrea, if you can forgive my behavior earlier, I would still like to offer you a ride home. I know it's very late," Miranda said as they stepped out of the elevator.

"I will accept the offer, but—I'm sorry—I will not forgive you. You have nothing to apologize for," Andrea said.

"But—my confession," Miranda said.

Andrea gave Miranda a blank stare. "What confession?" she asked, shrugging her shoulder.

"Cheeky," Miranda said, grinning like an idiot.


	2. Paris

**Prompt: "andrea hears sex noises coming from inside miranda's hotel room in paris."**

She stepped off the elevator and headed for Miranda's suite. Juggling the boxes from Hermes and trying to dig through her bag for the key card was not going well. Leaning against the door to steady herself, she suddenly stopped. Was that—it sounded like someone was being murdered. And there it was again. And again.

Oh, f**k. That someone is not being murdered. That someone is screaming out in the throes of passion. Wait—was that coming from Miranda's room?

Suddenly Andrea stepped back from the door. For the first time, she seriously considered Miranda as a human being. With needs. Sexual needs.

Thinking back, Andrea knew Stephen was not in Paris as she had just received an email from his assistant. So that meant…an escort? Perhaps one of the male models? Or female, even. With Miranda Priestly, nothing was surprising.

Andrea turned to leave, but then decided to deliver the boxes as she had been asked. Whatever lewdness was happening in the bedroom—hopefully it was at least in the bedroom—she was not going to judge. Miranda hired her for one thing: to assist. So, here she was.

Andrea began knocking on the door, deciding it was the better alternative to using her key and entering unannounced. That is, better until the screams came to a halt.

She stood, frozen, for two minutes until the door swung open. Miranda had a short silk robe tied around her waist, and her skin was flushed—glistening, even. Her hair was damp at the roots from perspiration, no doubt. Her pupils were dark and dilated. She was the vision of a goddess.

"Is there a reason you are knocking on my door?" she asked. Her voice was breathy and hoarse.

"Uhmm, I left my key card in my room. I'm just delivering these," she said, nervously handing her the boxes. She could smell Miranda's arousal quite strongly and felt herself growing wetter by the second. "I—I have to go," she stammered, dashing down the hall and into the stairwell.

Miranda sighed and shut the door, returning to her empty room, her dildo long forgotten. Nothing, she imagined, would bring her greater pleasure than seeing the brunette naked, worshipping her body. But, Andrea seemed quite uninterested. She was still afraid. Next time, she would invite her in. Next time, she would be hers.


	3. Just Friends

**Prompt from XV: "miranda prompt: miranda and andy become really good friends and snuggle up for a movie, until they realized they aren't just friends."**

"You know, I'm really glad you let me beg forgiveness after Paris," Andrea said over lunch at Pastis.

"You did not beg, you merely cried and screamed, that's all," Miranda said with a grin. "But for what it's worth, I am, too. The fashion industry wasn't right for you."

"Well, you certainly seem to enjoy my company," Andrea said.

Miranda smiled. "I'll admit, you do have a charming personality. It just feels good to have a friend—someone who isn't looking to gain something from me, you know?"

"Well, I don't really know, because I have nothing to really offer anyone else, but it is nice to have someone to hang out with," Andrea said.

"We do not 'hang out.'"

"Yes, Miranda, we do. That's what it's called when you get together with an acquaintance nowadays."

"If every conversation is going to result in you trying to teach me your generational slang, I will seriously start regretting my choice of companion," Miranda said.

"You know, I kind of miss working for you."

"Why on earth is that?" Miranda asked.

"Well, you'd say ridiculous things like that and—you're really witty, you know."

"Well look, now you get my wit for free—all the gain, none of the pain."

Andrea shook her head and finished eating her salad. As they were walking to the car, Andrea stopped. "The girls are with James this weekend, right?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well, Doug is out of town on business and I don't have to work, so I can have you for dinner," Andrea said. "It's my turn."

"Okay, I'll bring a movie and dessert?"

"Sure thing. Let's say Saturday around six. Have a good rest of the day—tell Em I said hi!"

Miranda rolled her eyes and nodded, getting into the towncar. Andrea waved to Roy, then continued to hail a cab back to The Mirror.

Saturday evening, Andrea and Miranda sat at her counter, eating some of Andrea's homemade pumpkin chili.

"You should cook more often, Andrea. Really, I mean, this is delicious," Miranda said, washing it down with a glass of Chardonnay.

They cleared their plates, and Miranda took her seat on Andrea's couch. "What movie did you bring?" she asked.

Miranda handed her a DVD case and smiled.

"Bringing up Baby again?" Andrea asked.

Miranda looked up at her, feigning ignorance. "What ever do you mean?"

"Fine. But I'm still not singing with you."

"Fine," Miranda said, crossing her arms across her chest. She quietly began humming "I Can't Give You Anything But Love."

Andrea put the DVD into the player and turned the light out. She went to the kitchen and brought Miranda a glass of Pellegrino, grabbing a Diet Coke for herself. "Are you cold?" she asked.

"Yes, I didn't dress for the frozen tundra like you," Miranda said with a chuckle.

It was true, though. The heat in Andrea's building was sub-par, so she was quite used to dressing in layers, including silk long underwear and fleece socks. Andrea brought Miranda a down throw, then took a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

They had each seen this movie hundreds of times, at least ten times together over the past year. There was something relaxing about watching this movie with Miranda. It took the pressure off conversation, for one—no one really likes to talk during movies. But also, it provided a common topic if neither wanted to delve too far into their personal lives at any given time.

"Pause it!" Miranda said, jumping up and running to the bathroom.

Andrea did, even though it was kind of pointless, as Miranda knew what was going to happen next. When Miranda returned, she finished her water and took the glass back to the kitchen before returning to the couch and her warm blanket.

"How are you not frozen? Your thermostat reads 65 F!" Miranda said, tucking the blanket up to her neck.

"Yeah, it is a little colder here tonight, but I'm fine."

Miranda looked over and saw Andrea had her hands tucked inside her shirt sleeve. "Here," she said, lifting up the blanket. "This is warm, we can share."

Andrea scooted closer to Miranda on the couch. She was right, it was a lot warmer.

"I watched this movie after signing the divorce paper—the first set of divorce papers," she added.

"Really? So is it just something you like to remember?" Andrea asked, confused by the relevance.

"Well, I was feeling really crappy about myself at the time. If my parents were alive, they would have rather disowned me than tell someone their daughter was divorced. I don't know, this movie just made me feel good about myself again," Miranda said.

Under the blanket, Andrea reached for Miranda's hand. "Well, you're lucky I like this movie," she said, which in turn made Miranda laugh out loud.

"My right leg is cold," Miranda said, tugging the blanket towards her side.

"Well, now my left leg is going to be cold," Andrea said, scooting closer to Miranda. As she tried to fit both of their bodies under the throw blanket, her arm brushed against Miranda's breast, causing her to inhale sharply. "Are you okay?" Andrea asked, unaware of what just happened.

Miranda bit her lip and brushed her hand along the inside of Andrea's thigh.

This time, Andrea gasped. She turned to look at Miranda and their faces were suddenly centimeters apart. "What is going on?"

Miranda shook her head, her eyes darting between Andrea's eyes and her plump lips.

Andrea's tongue snaked out, licking her lips. Miranda whimpered. Andrea reached up and brushed Miranda's cheek with her knuckle. "Miranda…"

But Miranda didn't let her finish her thought, as she quickly captured the young woman's lips in a passionate kiss.

Andrea returned the kiss and neither woman could keep her hands off the other. Andrea found herself pinned to the couch as Miranda began taking her sweater and shirt off. She knew she should stop her. Maybe they had too much wine at dinner. It was just a momentary lapse of judgment. They were friends, not lovers. But that didn't mean she hadn't considered….

"Andrea, I'm sorry," Miranda confessed later that evening, tucked under the comforter on Andrea's bed.

"What for?" she asked, gently stroking the woman curled against her.

"I shouldn't have kissed you. We are friends, not lovers," she said.

"Well, I love you as a friend…I think we can be both," Andrea said.

"What, like friends with benefits?" Miranda asked.

Andrea laughed. "The one time you get the saying right. Yeah, I guess."

"Mmm," Miranda said, smiling against Andrea's chest. "I like that."

"So do I."


	4. Dear Diary

**Prompt from XV: "Andy drops her diary while she is delivering the book…dundundun. Author's choice for what Miranda reads in it."**

It was late Friday night, and Andrea had her hands full with the dry-cleaning, which meant she had to stuff the Book into her bag in order to make it into the townhouse in one trip. Shutting the closet door, she fumbled in her oversized tote for the Book. Her iPod headphones were caught up in the binding of the Book, and in the process of trying to untangle that, she managed to drop a few pens, bobby pins, and her wallet. When she finally untangled everything and picked up her items from the floor, she saw the light turn on at the top of the stairs. That could only mean one thing: Miranda was coming down to pick up the Book. Quickly grabbing her bag, Andrea dashed out the front door, locking it behind her.

She needed to see Miranda as her boss, as someone who was ruthless and cruel and could ruin her life in a heartbeat. She needed that, because the other alternative—the relaxed woman who adored her children—was simply too tempting. When she was lounging without makeup, wearing loose sweaters and legging, or even her robe, she was accessible. And that was the last thing Andrea needed.

On Monday morning, Miranda arrived as expected. Emily greeted her at the elevators, and Andrea took and hung her coat and bag, all while making little to no eye-contact.

"Andrea," Miranda called. The young woman quickly appeared in the doorway, pen and paper in hand. "I need to speak to you, shut the door."

Andrea's stomach contracted in fear as she stepped back to close the door. She had never been in Miranda's office with the door closed, not even when she asked for Harry Potter.

"Andrea, look at me," Miranda said, watching her eyes slowly raise. She saw them widen as she took in her appearance. "Do you like this Dolman-sleeve sweater, Andrea?"

Andrea gulped. "It's beautiful. It looks fabulous on you," she said, grateful she paid attention to the way Emily and Serena would compliment each other's wardrobe choices on a daily basis.

"And tell me why this particular style might look fabulous on me. Do I not typically wear structured, fitted dresses, blouses, and suits? What is it about this sweater, Andrea?" Miranda asked, her voice practically purring as she stood and leaned over her desk.

"Uhhm, it's softer. It has smooth lines."

"Go on," Miranda urged.

"It doesn't have buttons or closures like suits do. It suggests openness."

"But surely, Andrea, you have noticed I do not wear my blouses buttoned all the way up to the neck," Miranda said.

"No, you don't. But your—many other women wear v-neck style clothing. This sweater doesn't reveal cleavage or anything, but the way it hangs on the shoulder, is more suggestive, more intimate."

"What if I wore it like this?" Miranda asked, tugging it slightly askew and exposing her bra strap and shoulder.

Andrea gasped. Suddenly her throat was dry and she was speechless.

"I suppose one has to have a certain type of shoulder to wear it like that," Miranda said, gently biting her lip and readjusting the sweater.

"No! Wait. You have beautiful shoulders. It looked perfect before," Andrea choked out.

"Perfect, Andrea? What do you mean?" she asked.

"It was sexy, I guess," Andrea said.

Miranda could see Andrea was on the verge of hyperventilating. She was clearly torturing the young woman, but she needed to know if it was true. "Andrea, have a seat," Miranda said, gesturing to the sofa.

Andrea cautiously walked over and sat. Miranda retrieved something from her bag, then joined her.

"I believe you dropped something at the townhouse Friday night when you were delivering the Book," Miranda said. "Is this yours?" Miranda asked, holding up the brown leather journal.

"My journal!" Andrea gasped. "Yo—you read it. Oh god."

"Is this sweater accessible enough for you, Andrea?" Miranda asked, tugging the sleeve down again, exposing her shoulder.

"Why are you teasing me, Miranda?" Andrea cried, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry. You were never meant to read that. I will pack up my things—" she said, standing up to leave.

"Wait," Miranda called, reaching out and grabbing her wrist. "Did you mean what you wrote?"

"Yeah, of course. Like I said, you were never meant to read it."

Miranda placed Andrea's hand on her shoulder. She reached up and gently cupped the young woman's cheek as tears filled her own eyes. "Tell me I'm beautiful, Andrea," she whispered.

Andrea let her fingers glide over Miranda's bare shoulder as she reached up her other hand to wipe away the editor's tears. "I'm not dreaming. You're really here. This is really happening," she whispered.

Miranda nodded and softly bit her lip. She had to close her eyes. She didn't want to see the look of disgust in the young woman's eyes.

"You are beautiful, Miranda. I would never lie to you about that," Andrea said.

"How can you say that you love me?" she asked.

"Well, I guess I can't say for certain, but even knowing what I do know, I would certainly say you are lovable."

Miranda nodded and licked her upper lip. "I want you to touch me," she said, "like you wrote in your penultimate journal entry."

Andrea remembered that entry all too well. "Here?" she asked, glancing back at the door.

Miranda nodded, a devilish grin crossing her lips. "It's one of my fantasies, too," she whispered.


	5. Bunny

**Prompt from XV: "Andy is still an Assistant and she discovers that Miranda wears Bunny slippers when she is sick."**

It was nearly midnight. Andrea sighed as she set the book down and quietly hung the dry cleaning in the hall closet. The townhouse was entirely dark, except for the moonlight creeping in through the window above the front door. As she turned to leave, her eyes caught something in the distance and she froze, reaching her hand up to cover her mouth.

As her eyes fully adjusted to the moonlight, she made out the shape of a small creature on the floor in the den. It looked to be about the size of a loaf of bread, but it had…ears? Or were those tentacles? Did the girls have a new house pet she wasn't aware of? Either way, Andrea knew that this creature would wreak havoc on the townhouse in no time. If she didn't take care of it tonight, it would be tomorrow's problem.

She bent down and took off her shoe, grateful she was wearing chunky Prada heels today. Tiptoeing closer, she paused when she thought she saw it move. No, that must just be her imagination. She squatted down closer to the ground. Turning her head in the other direction, she blindly struck the creature with her heel, gasping when she felt a pillow-like resistance.

"Who's there?" Miranda called, turning on the lamp. Seeing her assistant crouched next to her chair, she relaxed, but only enough to allow a coughing fit to consume her.

"Miranda!" Andrea gasped. She had obviously woken the editor from a deep sleep, and she appeared to be ill. Her nose was red, her lips were chapped, and she had a very rattly cough. "I—I—" she stammered.

"What on earth are you doing?" Miranda asked in a hoarse voice.

Andrea looked to the Prada heel in her right hand, then down at the floor. Her mouth gaped wide as she saw the fuzzy white bunny slipper on the floor. "I thought I saw…an animal."

"Did you fall down and smack your little head on the pavement? Can you not differentiate an animal from a slipper?" Miranda asked. She stood from the chair, revealing the other slipper on her foot that had been tucked underneath her.

"Oh my god!" Andrea gasped, quickly clasping her hand over her mouth.

"Yes, Andrea?"

"Umm…it's yours?"

Miranda smiled and licked her lips as she stepped her foot into the lost slipper. "Mmm, it must have fallen off while I was sleeping."

"Wh—nevermind," Andrea said.

"Go on, what were you going to say?"

"Why were you sleeping down here? Is everything okay?"

Miranda sighed. "I didn't want to wake the girls. They have an important exam at school tomorrow and need their sleep. They don't need my coughing to keep them awake all night," she said. She took a few deep breaths through her mouth since inhaling through her nose seemed futile at this point. "Were you really going to try and strike a creature with that Prada heel?" she asked.

"Uhh, yeah. I guess. I mean, I didn't really think that through," she said, dropping her shoe to the ground. "Can I get you some cough medicine, Miranda? There's a 24-hour pharmacy just around the corner."

"No, I do not need cough syrup," she protested, sinking back into her chair. "I was sleeping fine until you attacked my slipper."

Andrea quietly slipped her foot back into her shoe. "I am so sorry, Miranda. Can I bring you some herbal tea or something before I go?"

Miranda didn't answer right away. "That would be acceptable," she said eventually.

Andrea made her way into the kitchen and began boiling water, careful to catch the kettle so it would not whistle and wake the girls. She brought the tea into the living room and set it on the table next to Miranda's chair. She grabbed the blanket from the couch and handed it to Miranda, who laid it across her legs.

"Anything else?" Andrea asked.

Miranda took a long sip of her tea. "No, that's all," she said.

Andrea nodded and turned out the kitchen light, then headed towards the door.

"Oh, and Andrea?" Miranda called after her. "Mention these slippers to another living being and you can forget about coming back to work. That's all."


	6. Scandal

**Prompt from Anon: "Miranda is deeply hurt by her soon-to-be ex-husbands cheating. Andrea gives her a hug. (like this week's ep of scandal)"**

"He can't do this to me; I am a role model and he made me to look like a foolish, submissive wife—turn this off," Miranda said, finishing her glass of wine.

Andrea switched the television off, then walked over and sat on the sofa with Miranda. The past few weeks had been difficult for everyone. The murder charge was bad enough, but when the prosecution called countless young women to the stand to read text message conversations they had with Stephen, that was when Miranda began to fall apart. She never really loved Stephen, but after his dirty laundry had been aired, she made that clear. She told the jury that she hated him—hated the pervert he had become—and that she had filed for divorce.

The Miranda sitting next to her on the sofa was not that same Miranda who was on the stand in the courtroom. That Miranda was bold, strong, defiant. This Miranda was humiliated, defeated, weak. Miranda covered her face and bent over, rocking her body against the sofa.

"Hey," Andrea said, softly resting her hand on the editor's shoulder, "you don't have to hide. I've seen you cry. It's okay."

"I'm NOT crying, Andrea," she said through her teeth. "I am trying not to scream!" She was trembling with emotion as she looked up at the woman."

Andrea leaned back and patted her chest gently. "Here, put your head here," she said, opening her arms.

Miranda opened her mouth in protest, then shut it.

"Here, I promise," Andrea repeated.

Miranda wasn't sure what she was promising, but she slowly leaned over and laid her head on the young woman's chest, snuggling up to her side. The steady beating of Andrea's heart calmed her, and for the first time in weeks, she relaxed. From her new vantage point, everything would, indeed, be okay.


	7. Legs

**Prompt from merylfanatic: "How about a story where Andrea really adores Miranda's legs and has an obsession with them in heels/when she walks and swings her hips and Miranda catches her watching her/her legs and you know, decide the rest. ;-) I love a tease Miranda…"**

Riding in the town car with Miranda was always uncomfortable. Some days it was the silence, other days the perfume. On rare occasions, it was the small talk. But today it was none of that. Today, it was the legs.

They were on their way back to the office from a visit to James Holt's studio. Normally, it would be a ten minute ride, but today, late spring storms had cut power to many of the traffic lights in Manhattan and the streets were a nightmare. They had been in the car for twenty minutes already and still were nowhere near Elias-Clarke. Had Andrea been riding alone, she would have gotten out and walked the two miles to the office. But, today, Miranda was wearing a cap-sleeve printed Prada sundress with nude Valentino slingbacks, so walking was not an option. Plus, there were the legs.

Miranda always sat ramrod straight in the car, keeping her knees together and both feet flat on the floor. Andrea only caught a glance here or a glance there, but today, once it was clear they would be delayed by the traffic situation, she saw from the corner of her eye that Miranda leaned back and slouched against the seat. In doing so, she casually angled her body and crossed her right leg over her left as she pulled out her phone and called her daughters.

On any other day, Andrea would stare out the window and try to make herself invisible. Today, she was still trying to make herself invisible, except with Miranda's toe just inches away and that silky expanse of perfectly sculpted leg nearly blinding her, she decided the window had nothing on her view.

Minutes passed, and Andrea had to lick her lips to keep them from growing too dry. She memorized every curve, every muscle, every freckle (and yes, there were freckles) of that woman's leg like it was her job. It didn't matter who Miranda was on the phone with or what she was saying. In that moment, it was just Andrea and those legs.

Andrea watched as Miranda casually bounced her leg up and down, watching the muscles bend and flex. Perfection. There really was no other word for it. She was so intensely focused that she failed to notice Miranda snapping her fingers wildly, trying to get her attention. It wasn't until Miranda stretched her foot out and tapped Andrea's leg that she jumped to attention.

Miranda covered the mouthpiece on her cell. "Call Emily. Postpone Theyskens indefinitely," she whispered. Seeing the blush creep up Andrea's cheeks, she added, "And tell Roy to turn around—townhouse."

Andrea nodded and quickly leaned forward to inform Roy of their new destination. At least they would be able to avoid the traffic nightmare since Miranda's home was really just around the corner. She quickly messaged Emily regarding the Theyskens shoot, and before she knew it, Roy had pulled up at Miranda's corner.

"Is this okay? It'll be another ten if you need me to pull around to the front," he informed them.

"This is fine," Miranda said.

Andrea quickly jumped out of the car and retrieved the garment bags from James Holt she had laid in the trunk, then ran over to Miranda's door, where she was slowly extricating herself from the backseat, one gorgeously sexy leg at a time.

Andrea watched as Miranda sauntered past and opened the gate to the back courtyard. The editor pranced up the brick stairs and unlocked her door. Andrea was still standing in place next to the town car.

Miranda turned around and grinned. "Coming, Andrea?"


	8. Without Me

**Prompt from Anon: "Miranda forces Andrea to live her own life. tells her 'i'll be there when you least expect it. i'll love you always.'"**

It's been six years without her, and not a day goes by that her heart doesn't ache. But today, she would have none of that. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Today, she was getting married.

Sitting in her hotel suite, Andrea gazed upon her own reflection as Lily adjusted the bobby pins in her hair. "Lil," she began.

"Don't say it, Andy. I know what you're thinking. Just—don't," she said, sitting next to her and hugging her gently. "You've come so far. You have Brody now, and Mike, who's an amazing father and will be an amazing husband. You have a new life here in San Francisco and a whole new group of friends here who love you. Don't throw it away, Andy."

Andrea closed her eyes and silently nodded. She had so much to be thankful for. The first few years were difficult. Being a single mother was more difficult than she was willing to admit, but she did it. And now she didn't have to anymore. "Thanks, Lil," she said. She took a deep breath. "Tell them they can come in."

Lily stepped away for a minute and returned with Andrea's mother, Brody, and two of her colleagues from Berkeley. Brody immediately went over to the desk, where he resumed coloring the picture he was working on with the new 64-count box of crayons his grandma bought him just for this occasion.

"Sweetheart, you look so beautiful," Andrea's mother said as she gently reached out to touch the pendant hanging from her neck. "I wish your grandmother was here to see you today," she said.

"Me too, Mom," Andrea replied. She stood and spun in a circle, showing off her gorgeous off-the-rack Oscar de la Renta gown. "And you, Mr. Brody," she said, squatting next to her son, "you are looking very handsome today."

"Thanks," he said absentmindedly. He was too young to really understand the purpose of this day—all he was focused on was his picture. "Mommy," he said, holding up a crayon, "what color is _ser-oo-leen_?"

Andrea inhaled sharply as she struggled to keep her composure. "_Cerulean. _It's blue, darling. The brightest, clearest, prettiest blue in the world," she said, gently kissing him on the forehead.

Andrea stood and pulled her phone out of her small clutch, gently stroking the screen, fighting the urge to reach out. A single tear escaped from her eye as Miranda's words echoed in her mind: _I'll be there when you least expect it. I'll love you always._

Taking a deep breath, she tucked the phone back in her clutch and handed it to Lily. "Okay. I'm ready."


	9. Secret

**Prompt from damemerylstreep: "So, established Mirandy. Miranda receives a scary letter from someone from her past threatening to reveal a secret the world doesn't know. Andy is there to help a scared and shell-shocked Miranda. The secret could be anything, it's up to you."**

"Bye Mom, love you!" Cassidy called. "Anna's mom will bring us back Sunday night."

"Okay, be good. Call me or Andrea if you need anything," Miranda said, kissing both daughters on the forehead as they left for a weekend trip to the art museum in Philadelphia. Their high school offered summer programs in the arts and sciences, and this year, as the girls were heading into their sophomore year, they chose to participate in the Art History program.

Miranda took the day off so she could help them pack and be there to see them off. She was doing more of that lately, mostly because Human Resources pointed out that she had accrued nearly six months' worth of vacation time over the past fifteen years. But things were better at _Runway_, too. Irv was eventually forced into retirement. Emily was promoted to Art Director and she took her efficiency along with her. Andrea found and trained two new assistants and changed the job descriptions. Marguerite was Executive Assistant to the Editor in Chief, and Nicole was the new Fashion Assistant. It was setup so that Marguerite would stay in her role indefinitely, while the Fashion Assistant was a young man or woman interested in the industry that Miranda would personally train and prepare for a career in fashion. By splitting the duties, she was guaranteed stability and competence in her day-to-day, while still being able to engage with young, creative up-and-comers. And no one at _Runway _had a key to her home.

Her phone rang. "Hello darling, I was just thinking about you," she said.

"Mmm, good thoughts I hope?"

"Always. The girls just left for their trip."

"Shoot—I wanted to say bye before they left. I'm sorry, I just got so caught up here with all the news about Haiti," she said.

"I understand. What time do you think you'll be home?"

"No later than six tonight. John's got weekend coverage for me. I can stop and grab dinner on the way—will that work?"

"Yes, that's perfect. Although, I don't know what I will do with myself for the next four hours," Miranda said.

Andrea laughed. "Read a book, watch TV, go through that pile of mail in the dining room. I can think of plenty of things."

"Okay, okay. See you later," Miranda said.

"Bye, love you."

"Love you, too."

Miranda set the phone back on the kitchen counter and decided she would at least _sort_ the pile of mail. In the past six months, the house had been receiving an incredible amount of mail. Cassidy and Caroline were receiving letters from colleges and scholarship programs. Andrea was constantly receiving newsletters and publications from the various journalism and news organizations, and Miranda was receiving countless pleas for donations from every charitable organization imaginable—all that on top of the newspapers and magazines they subscribed to. Needless to say, half of the dining table was covered in papers.

She pulled a few collapsible storage totes from the closet and put a post-it note on each. She took the girls' bins of mail up to their bedrooms and set them on their desks. She carried Andrea's up to her office and set it on the desk there, and she decided to make her way through her own mail there: a pile for thank yous, a pile of invitations, a pile of announcements, and a pile of junk. There were only a few pieces that didn't fit into any of the piles. The first was a brown envelope from Patrick Demarchelier, who sent a photo of her and Andrea taken at the benefit last month. The second was obviously a letter from Donatella that she would read later, when she had time to respond. The third was an ordinary, cheap business envelope with no return address.

Miranda opened the letter, figuring it was just another note from one of her many crazed fans. It had been a while since she received one of those, actually. As she pulled the letter out, her heart stopped. There were two photographs, a newspaper clipping, and a note that read, "I was the nurse who helped deliver your baby that day. Ten million dollars or I send the originals to _The Post._" There was a phone number scribbled at the bottom of the page.

Her hands trembled as she picked up the first photo. It was a snapshot, taken less than an hour after she had given birth nearly thirty years ago, the newborn snuggled against her chest for the mandatory hour of skin-to-skin. She was only nineteen years old; the baby would be nearly forty now. The next photo was of a barefoot, homeless-looking young girl. Recognizing those eyes, Miranda gasped and covered her mouth as she started to cry.

She picked up the newspaper clipping, dated February 1993. An 18-year-old prostitute was found frozen to death in Central Park. She had no wallet or ID. The only identifying mark was a birthmark on her left shoulder. Suddenly, she felt nauseous. She felt warm and needed some fresh air. As she was about to stand up, the room began to spin around her and everything suddenly went black.

Seconds later, Andrea walked in carrying some items she picked up at the market. "Miranda?" she called, setting the bag down on the table in the foyer. She followed the light into the dining room and saw Miranda slumped unnaturally at the table.

"Miranda!" she shouted, running over to her and shaking her by the shoulder.

The editor's eyes blinked open, and Andrea softly brushed her cheek. "Hey, what happened? Are you okay?" she asked, gently helping her to sit up.

"I—I—" Miranda stammered before everything went black once again.

"Oh god, Miranda," Andrea said. She quickly wrapped her arms around the woman and held her up, kicking the chair out of the way before lowering her to the ground. She pulled one the storage crate closer and used it to prop up Miranda's feet. "Come back to me, Miranda," she said, softly stroking her cheek again.

Miranda slowly opened her eyes. "Andrea, I—"

"Shhh," Andrea said, brushing the lock of hair off her forehead. "It's okay. You fainted. Just take some nice, deep breaths," she said.

Miranda shook her head and tried to push herself up. "I'm going to be sick," she said.

Andrea carefully helped her up and walked her to the bathroom just off the den, watching in horror as she kept her arm around her. She flushed the toilet, and Andrea helped her to stand as she rinsed out her mouth. Then, she helped her to lie on the couch, propping her legs up on some pillows. She brought her a glass of water from the kitchen and knelt next to the couch.

"Talk to me, tell me what's wrong. Do I need to call the doctor?" she asked.

"No—not the doctor. There was a letter I opened this afternoon…no one was supposed to know," she said as she began sobbing.

"Sweetie, you can tell me," she said.

"No. It's horrible. You—you'll hate me."

"I could never hate you," Andrea said. "And I love you too much to see you like this. Let me help."

Miranda nodded and sat up slowly. "I'm going to go upstairs and lie down. Why don't you make yourself something to eat, and then if you haven't changed your mind, we can talk."

"Okay," Andrea said. Once Miranda went upstairs, she put the groceries away and made herself a quick bowl of cereal, then straightened the dining room. She couldn't help but look at the letter and photos on the table.

Upstairs, she crawled up behind Miranda on the bed and wrapped her arms around her. "I love you, Miranda. No matter what happened in the past, I love you now and nothing will change that."

"I don't deserve you," she said, turning around to face the younger woman. She kissed her, and sighed, knowing she would need to tell her everything. "When I was eighteen, I got pregnant and ran away from home when I was five months along. I couldn't tell my parents, though I suspect my mother had an idea. I took a bus to New York and stayed at a women's shelter until the baby was born. I didn't have a home or a job—I couldn't raise that child, so I gave her up for adoption, so she could find a good home."

Miranda reached up and wiped the tears from her eyes. "After that, I found a job at Macy's and eventually earned enough to find a tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn. I took a few classes to earn my GED, and eventually left Macy's for a paid internship at Elias-Clarke Publications. I tried not to think too much of my little girl. I knew—or, I thought I knew—that she would be in a better home. I never saw her again after those few precious hours in the hospital." She took a deep breath. "Today, I learned that my little girl died almost twenty years ago. I could have helped her," Miranda cried. "And now—now that nurse from the hospital is looking to get rich."

Andrea held her tight as she cried into her arms. "I still love you. I can't imagine how difficult that was for you when you were younger, alone in New York City. I'm so sorry, Miranda."

"What am I going to do?" she asked. "Ten million dollars is a lot of money—and what if she goes to the press anyway?"

"Well," Andrea said, "you can always come out with the story first."

"How would that work? I don't even have proof that it's her aside from the mention of a birthmark," Miranda said.

"I could assign this to Tracy. She can investigate the case first, even interview that nurse, but also interview you. It can even be part of a series investigating adoption agencies. She can't publish it without me seeing it first," Andrea explained.

"But what will they think? They will call me a murderer. What will the girls think?"

"I think the girls will understand why you didn't tell them. This will give you an opportunity to get involved with some non-fashion charities, too."

"You know, you sound like Leslee. You sound like you're trying to find the most favorable way to spin this story. This is my life, Andrea."

"I know," she said. "Which is why I am fully prepared to spend the next six months curled up in bed with you if that's what you need. But I don't think this story will remain a secret for long."

"Six months? Really?"

"Yes. Whatever you need. I will take care of you."

"Can Tracy get this done quickly?"

"Ten days tops."

"Okay. I trust you completely, Andrea."


	10. iPhone

**Prompt from Anon: "Andy leaves her phone on the desk and Miranda sees that her lock picture is a photo of Miranda herself. :-P"**

"What time is it?" Miranda asked quietly. What was supposed to be a "quick drink" with Tabitha and her team had somehow turned into wine, dinner, wine, dessert, and more wine. Miranda was never one to linger at a soiree, but today she was on her best behavior.

Last month, not only had _Runway _misidentified a pair of Tabitha Simmons Autumn/Winter heels in a caption, but they had also misprinted the tri-fold spread on over 200,000 copies. Nigel and Serena had been doing damage control, and when they learned Tabitha would be in New York, there was no other option than for Miranda to wine and dine her.

As much as Miranda didn't want to be there, she knew how important it was to keep her designers—who also sometimes happened to be her advertisers—ridiculously happy. And for that, she brought her secret weapon, her second assistant Andrea Sachs.

Surely, the girl was a walking fashion disaster when she first arrived, but in eight months' time, she was as well-dressed as anyone else who worked at _Runway_. And she had something the others lacked: a delightfully charming personality. Even Miranda had to smile in amazement at the way Andrea was able to work her magic on—well, on everyone. The doormen, the drivers, the security guards, the maintenance crew, the cleaning crew, the pressmen, the twins' teachers, _her ex-husbands_, _Irv Ravitz_…the list was endless. And tonight, she would be adding Tabitha Simmons to that list.

"Andrea," Miranda whispered, "The time?"

Andrea reached for her phone, which was sitting on the table next to her wineglass. Rather than interrupt her conversation with the lovely British woman, she simply pressed the button to illuminate her phone screen and tilted it towards Miranda.

11:00 PM. The twins were at their father's, so she would be returning to an empty house. The screen dimmed before she could focus her eyes on the exact time, so she reached over and pressed the button, illuminating the screen on Andrea's iPhone once again, and this time Miranda gasped.

Andrea turned around and quickly snatched her phone from the table, only to be met with Miranda's icy glare.

"I'm so sorry, Tabitha, but I think we must call it a night," Miranda said. Her voice was sickeningly sweet. "I need to check on my daughters before it's past their bedtime," she added.

"Oh, of course," the designer said, "Thank you for taking the time tonight. I'm looking forward to our future collaborations."

Miranda nodded and exchanged air kisses.

"And Andrea, it was lovely to meet you," Tabitha added, pulling a pen out of her bag. "Here's my number. The next time you find yourself across the pond, I would love to show you the National Portrait Gallery."

Andrea graciously nodded, and stepped away, falling into step behind Miranda as they left the restaurant.

Once they were seated in the back of the town car, Miranda closed her eyes. She didn't want to hear the myriad of reasons why her assistant had that—that _private _photo of her as her lock screen. "Andrea, delete that image immediately," she said.

"I'm sorry. You were never meant to see it."

"What if someone else-? Do you know how many iPhones are lost or stolen on public transportation each year? Delete it. I don't want to hear your reasons," Miranda said.

"Done," Andrea said, showing Miranda the default flower that was now her image.

"When was that even taken?" she asked.

"A few months ago. You stopped in with the girls on a Saturday."

"Are there any other copies?"

"No," Andrea said.

"As much as I don't want to hear what you have to say, tell me why I shouldn't fire you right now," Miranda said.

"I keep this picture of you because it reminds me that you're human and that you have a heart. When you berate and belittle me, this reminds me that it's only Miranda-the-editor who thinks I'm ugly, fat, and unworthy," she said. She paused for a moment before adding, "It gives me hope that you might not really think such awful things about me."

Miranda was speechless. Could it be that the young woman was really that clueless—that she was unaware of the effect she had on her? "Andrea, I don't think you're any of that," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

"Excuse me?"

"You're beautiful, and you're perfectly proportioned, and you are so very worthy, darling," Miranda said. She turned and was surprised to see the young woman's tears. "Oh Andrea, please don't cry," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes with her fingertips.

"I'm sorry, I can't help it," she cried.

Miranda cupped her cheek and their eyes met. "Come home with me tonight. I think we have some things to discuss…and maybe you can even take some more photos if you wish," she said.

Andrea's eyes widened.

"As long as you promise to keep them in your password-protected collection," she added with a grin.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for all the comments and PMs! I do not plan to continue any of these (feel free to do so if you are so inclined). I still have an inbox full of prompts on tumblr, so I'm slowly making my way through. Thanks again! xo


	11. LBD (Little Black Dress)

**Prompt from Anon: "Prompt: Miranda is wearing that black dress with that awesome cleavage (she really wears this dress in the movie)... And Andy just has to say this, spitting it out."**

"Good morning, Miranda," Andrea said, catching the woman's coat and bag. In the nine months she has been at _Runway_, the editor has warmed up to her somewhat. Instead of throwing the coat at her desk, she gently tosses it in her direction. It's those subtle differences that have made working as Miranda's assistant worthwhile—that made her stay at Miranda's side in Paris.

Andrea closed the closet door and returned to her desk.

"Andrea?" Miranda called.

The brunette grabbed her notepad and quickly rushed into the inner sanctum. Miranda was standing with her back to the door. "What did Nadine say?" she asked.

"She finished the layouts last—_ohh!"_ Andrea gasped.

"Excuse me?" Miranda asked, glaring.

"I—I—I just…"

Miranda put her hand on her hip. "Can you please tell me why you are doing an imitation of a guppy, Andrea? Have you suddenly lost the inability to form words?"

"It—it's—it's just…"

"Spit it out, Andrea."

"Your dress. It's—your cleavage is amazing," she said.

Miranda's eyes widened and she looked at her assistant with a that what-on-earth look.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that," Andrea said, covering her mouth.

Slowly, Miranda shook her head. "No. You shouldn't have," she said, stepping closer.

Andrea stood perfectly still. Her eyes were clasped shut, and she was holding her breath, awaiting her judgment.

Miranda stepped around her and pushed the office door shut, turning the lock. "Andrea," she whispered, her lips just inches from the young woman's ear. "You should not say such things when others can hear. That's how rumors start," Miranda said. She took Andrea's hand and led her over to the couch. "Tell me, Andrea, do you like this dress?"

Andrea nodded without opening her eyes.

"Tell me. Tell me what you like about it. Describe it," Miranda said.

"Uhm, it's black. It's a cotton blend and it clings to your body. It looks like an ordinary wrap dress at first glance, but really, it is a deep v-neck, reaching down to your mid-abdomen. I—I don't know what the bottom looks like," Andrea said. Her eyes were still tightly shut. "I never made it that far."

Miranda smiled. "This is not the first time I've worn this dress."

"It's not. I know that. You wore it the day after I first delivered the Book to your home, and then again a few months back to the girls' school play, though you never took your coat off that night," Andrea said.

"What is different today?" Miranda asked.

"You aren't wearing a necklace."

Miranda took Andrea's hand, which she was still holding in her own, and brought it up to her chest. "Mmm, yes, a necklace would have interfered with this," she said, arching her back ever so slightly as Andrea's fingers softly traced the alabaster skin. "Open your eyes."

Andrea did as the woman said and was surprised to see her clear blue eyes dark and stormy. She let out a small gasp, and as soon as she realized what was happening, her eyes were fluttering closed again.

Miranda's lips were soft and warm—better than anything she had ever imagined. She slowly nudged Andrea's hand beneath the fabric of her dress, eliciting another gasp when Andrea realized she was not wearing a bra.

"Oh god, Miranda," she moaned into her mouth, bringing her other hand up to caress the woman's other breast.

"Andrea," she gasped. "I thought you'd never notice me, never look at me with desire. But if I had known all it took was this dress…"

"What? What would you have done?"

"Worn it every day for you—every single day. Oh god," she said.

Andrea looked up at the older woman, her lips hovering over her breast, her fingertips surrounded by the heat of her core. "But—the rumors…?" she said.

"To hell with the rumors! Let them write what they want. But—oh god—just don't stop!"

Andrea smiled and resumed her motions. This would definitely not be the 'smart, fat girl' dress anymore.


	12. Coffee

**Prompt from Anon: "Andrea secretly spikes Miranda's morning coffee."**

"Good morning, Miranda," she said, gently setting the coffee on the designated coaster on the editor's desk.

Miranda looked up and gave Andrea the daily head-to-toe once-over. "Reschedule Jerome for next week," she said, quickly snatching her coffee and turning back to her computer.

Andrea nodded and returned to her desk. Since she and Miranda began sleeping together two months ago, their office dynamic had certainly changed. Miranda was so worried someone would find out, she began to over-compensate by being even more harsh and abrasive than usual towards the brunette.

It had been two weeks since they'd last been together, and even that was rushed because she had to pick up her children from their father's. Andrea knew that Miranda was free this weekend, and she was determined to make plans with Miranda.

"Andrea?" Miranda called. "This is not my regular coffee."

Andrea rushed back into the office. "I'm so sorry. They were out of the Pike's Place roast, so I brought you the Sumatra. It's a dark roast, with earthy, oaky undertones. Do you need me to run back there?" she asked.

"No. This is acceptable."

Andrea nodded and made her way back to her desk. She took the small flask out of her purse and locked it back up in her drawer.

Not more than an hour later, Miranda asked for another cup of coffee…and then another. Each time, Andrea added more and more whisky until her flask was empty.

"I—I don't know what's come over me. I can hardly keep my eyes open," Miranda said when Andrea brought in her lunch. Miranda hadn't even noticed that she closed the door behind her. "That wasn't decaffeinated coffee, was it?"

"No, it was regular," Andrea said, walking around to Miranda's side of the desk and leaning against it. She gently picked up Miranda's hand. "I missed you last weekend," she said.

"Mmm, me too," Miranda murmured, squeezing her hand.

"What are you doing this weekend?" Andrea asked, walking over and slowly spinning her chair around so it faced the window.

"Umm, nothing. The girls are away, and Stephen is, too," Miranda said, leaning back in the chair and closing her eyes.

Andrea slowly parted Miranda's legs and knelt on the floor, wrapping her arms around the woman's waist. She pressed a soft kiss to Miranda's collarbone before laying her head on the woman's chest.

Miranda's arms instinctively wrapped around her as she hummed in delight. "Darling, I'm sorry I've been so busy. I think about you every night," she said quietly.

"You do?"

"Uh-huh."

"What do you do when you think of me?" Andrea asked.

Miranda chuckled and slid her hand beneath the waistband of her skirt. "Mmmm," she moaned, "I need you Andrea." She inhaled sharply as her fingers travelled further.

Andrea stood and gently pulled Miranda's hand out, licking her fingers clean. "Can you wait until we get to the car?" she asked.

Miranda blinked and slowly turned around, as if just now realizing she was still in her office. In her chair. Her eyes widened and she looked at Andrea.

"Roy is waiting downstairs. I will inform Emily that you are not feeling well, and that you will be taking the weekend off. Is that okay?"

"I'm really not fee—wait, that wasn't Sumatra, was it?" Miranda asked.

Andrea shook her head, suddenly feeling a twinge of guilt. "Let's go," she said.

Miranda nodded and stood up slowly. "Andrea, wait," she said. She stepped closer and pulled the young woman in for a kiss. "I'll be ready in five."

Andrea smiled. Totally worth it, she thought.


	13. The Bride

**Prompt from Anon: "Andy is getting married. Miranda appears in the room that she is getting ready, Miranda is carrying her dress. They kiss. The groom sees."**

"Knock, knock," Miranda said, softly tapping on the door before entering.

Andrea turned around and smiled. "Miranda. I wasn't expecting you."

"You don't think I'd let this custom Naeem Khan gown out of my hands, do you?" she said, arching her eyebrows as she hung the dress on the hook. "You make quite the beautiful bride, sweetheart," Miranda said as she admired the soft waves in the brunette's hair and the celestial glow of her face.

"Thank you—and thank you for being here, dress or not."

"Of course." Miranda reached out and grasped Andrea's hand. "Are you ready?"

Andrea smiled and nodded, then slid her jeans off and began to unbutton her blouse while Miranda unzipped the garment bag and took the dress off its hanger.

The editor carried the dress over and held it while Andrea stepped in and carefully tugged the beaded straps up and over her shoulders. Miranda smoothed out the fabric and gently tugged the hidden side zipper.

Andrea stood in front of the mirror, a vision in ivory. Miranda stood behind her, wrapping her arms around the woman's waist and looking over her shoulder, meeting her eyes in the mirror. When she saw tears falling down Miranda's cheeks, she turned around and reached up, cupping the woman's cheek. "Miranda," she said, "I love yo—"

And before she could finish, Miranda closed the distance between them, softly pressing her lips to the young woman's.

Andrea moaned into her mouth, lacing her fingers through the silver hair.

"Hey Andy," Tom said, walking into the room. "Lily said to give—" and his voice trailed off as everyone in the room froze.

Miranda stepped away from her and looked down at her hands.

"Andy, what the fuck is this?" he asked. "I thought you said she was like an aunt or something? I mean, she's like sixty!"

"Shut up, Tom. I'm sorry, but I don't have any excuses," she said.

"What?" he asked. Miranda also turned and looked at Andrea after that remark.

"I mean it," she said. "I'm not going to make an excuse. I don't know what to say, except maybe we should postpone this wedding."

"Andy, c'mon, you can't be serious," he said, stepping closer.

"No. I'm quite serious. I'll have my brother tell the guests. And I'll call you tomorrow or something."

"Just like that? It's like I don't even know you anymore," he said.

"Maybe you don't. Maybe that's the problem," she said. "I will call you later—I promise."

He nodded and walked out, shutting the door behind him. Andrea took a deep breath and walked closer to Miranda. "Hey," she said, putting her hands on Miranda's shoulders.

Miranda quickly stepped away, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Andrea. I just ruined your wedding day, and—"

Before she could finish, Andrea pressed her back against the mirror. "Listen to me. The only thing you've ruined is my panties, and I am perfectly fine with that. Get this dress off me," she said.

A grin spread across Miranda's lips. "My pleasure," she purred.


	14. Cliché

**Prompt from mxrolkr: "Seriously? A Prompt? OK. I don't spend a lot of time on tumblr, but I saw your ffnet post, so here's one, if you want. 'It's not cliché to me Miranda. My Mom was my Dad's Executive Assistant 30 years ago.'"**

Andrea curled up against the editor and rested her head on her shoulder. The woman's arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. "I love this," she said.

"What?"

"This. Sitting on your lap, just sharing the silence with you."

"Yes, it is nice," Miranda said, resting her head against the young woman's. "I want you to come with me to the party tonight, you know, as my guest, not my assistant."

Andrea turned and looked up at Miranda. "But?"

"But I can't," Miranda said, closing her eyes. She pressed a kiss to Andrea's forehead, then to her lips.

"I would love to come with you, you know that. I know we said we would wait to officially come out, but everyone we care about knows—the girls, James, Nigel, Leslee, my parents," Andrea said.

"It's not that," Miranda said,

"Then what? The press? You know that ever since I started working at The Post, they stay away from you."

"I know. It's just—"

"Cliche?" she asked. Miranda nodded. "It is _not_ cliche to me, Miranda. My mom was my dad's executive assistant some thirty years ago. If anything, it's _natural_," she said with a smirk.

"Are you serious?" Miranda asked, pushing her away slightly so she could look her in the eye.

"Completely. Everyone thought Dad just fancied Mom until my sister was born. Then they knew they were serious," she said.

"So you're saying we need to have a baby for people to take us seriously?"

"No. I mean, I'm not opposed, but I don't want that conversation tonight. I just meant that it will take a bit of time to prove to the world that we're serious."

"I suppose that's true," Miranda said. "But what if it doesn't happen?"

"What? People not take Miranda Priestly seriously?" she asked. "I think you forget who you are sometimes."

"True," Miranda said with a smile. "I'll just fire anyone who doesn't acknowledge you as my partner."

"That's the spirit," Andrea said, sitting up and straddling Miranda's legs. "I love you so much, Miranda." She reached up and cupped her cheeks, slowly kissing her.

When they broke for air, Miranda pushed Andrea back. "Come with me tonight?"

"Yes. Always," she said.


	15. Rain

**Prompt from merylfanatic: "If you're still taking prompts, I have one but it's kind of vague... I just want there to be rain late at night, desperation but a happy ending. It could take place in front of the townhouse."**

It was torture for her, sitting and waiting for the Book every night. Alone, at the office, with no way to escape. Miranda's scent was everywhere, even after the maintenance crew came in (which meant they were either instructed to spritz her perfume or she smelled like their cleaning products). Whichever the case, the scent was intoxicating and it was not fair that Andrea had to spend fourteen hours of her day smelling what wasn't hers.

No, Miranda was definitely off-limits. Sure, they had gotten closer in Paris. They even talked about their personal lives every now and then in the car—which mostly consisted of Miranda asking Andrea if she was still seeing her cook-boy-boyfriend and Andrea asking about the girls. On rare occasions—usually if the book was really early or really late—Miranda would invite her in to join them for dinner, or for a drink.

Obviously, there was nothing strange about the situation. Miranda was human, after all, and it wasn't terribly surprising that she could be kind. Anyone who was as bitchy as she was at work had to be using that to mask her real emotions.

But last week, something changed. They were riding back from Althuzarra's showroom and Andrea asked how the girls were doing. It was a simple question she'd asked over a dozen times. If Miranda didn't want to talk, she would just say "They're good," and leave it at that. But that day, Miranda didn't respond with words. She simply started crying.

Andrea knew what she wanted to do—to hug her and hold her and love her and make everything better. But instead, she froze. "What happened?" she whispered after several minutes. Miranda shook her head and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

It has been nine days since then, and Andrea couldn't take it. It didn't help that it was the hottest week of the summer and had Miranda wearing short skirts and strapless dresses, walking in flushed with tiny beads of sweat glistening on her skin. No, that didn't help at all.

When Jordan finally brought the Book out to her desk, she quickly picked it up and headed to the elevators. It was still warm and muggy, even though it was 9:30 PM. August in New York was always like that. Since there was no dry-cleaning on Fridays, she thought she would walk to the townhouse and hopefully clear her mind. By 10 PM, she was turning the key and letting herself in.

"Andrea?" Miranda called, just as the young woman was about to put the book on the table.

Andrea turned and followed the voice into the sitting room, handing Miranda the book.

"Sit. Would you like a drink?" she asked. Andrea saw she was still wearing her Valentino mini-dress from this afternoon, only with a pashmina wrapped around her shoulders.

"No," Andrea said. She could feel the tears forming. "No, I can't keep doing this," she said, quickly turning around. She didn't come here to cry to Miranda.

"What do you mean?" Miranda asked. She almost sounded concerned, but Andrea simply shook her head and kept marching out the front door, pausing only for a moment on the porch when she realized it was pouring rain.

"Fuck," she muttered. She quickly threw her hair up in a ponytail and tucked her clutch underneath her arm before heading down the steps.

"Wait!" Miranda called out.

Andrea turned and saw Miranda standing barefoot on the porch. She glanced up at the rain, took off her cashmere wrap and tossed it inside before running down the steps to meet the young woman on the sidewalk.

The rain had soaked them both in a matter of seconds. Miranda's hair was flattened, matted against her head. Still, she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

She reached down and took Andrea's hand. "I know you can't keep doing this. I shouldn't have let this go on so long. Andrea, come inside, and we'll talk," Miranda said.

"No. It's too much. I can't—I have to go," she said, pulling her hand away.

Miranda grabbed her arm and turned her around, stepping closer. She reached her hand up and cupped Andrea's cheek. "I love you. It's crazy, and I don't understand it, but I can't live without you," she said. Andrea stood there, speechless. "I know I'm old, and I have kids and exes and _Runway_," Miranda continued. "And I know I'm not wearing waterproof mascara, so my face is a mess, but Andrea," she said, wiping the water from her face, "please don't walk away."

Andrea smiled and reached her hand up, gently touching Miranda's cheek. She softly pushed the wet hair back behind her ears, then closed her eyes and kissed her. She weaved her fingers through the wet strands of silver hair, pulling her closer as her clutch fell to the ground.

Miranda wrapped her arm around Andrea's waist, pressing their bodies together as she deepened the kiss. She was desperate, reaching out, touching, squeezing—anything to keep her there. To keep her from running. To make this kiss last forever.

A loud clap of thunder and strong winds tore through. Hearing the branches creak on the trees lining the street, Miranda pulled away, trailing kisses along Andrea's jaw to her ear. "Come inside?" she asked.

Andrea nodded, kissing her again before taking her hand and following her up the stairs to the townhouse.


	16. Coquette

**Prompt from Anon: "How about something with Andy and beautiful Miranda discreetly flirting, lovely writer?"**

There was nothing quite as beautiful as Miranda's laugh—although, technically, it was usually more of a cross between a cough and a snort. Andrea couldn't help but smile as she saw the editor seated at the picnic table under the tent. She walked closer, then climbed onto the bench to sit next to the editor.

Serena was at the podium, presenting on sustainable cotton, which Emily did not look happy to be modeling. This was all part of a new eco-conscious initiative at Elias-Clarke. Every Wednesday afternoon in the spring and summer, various staff members would present on environmental initiatives across their respective publications and industries. Everyone was encouraged to attend these mini-meetings in the park, though Miranda made clear that her staff was to treat this as a mid-level priority.

"I thought you weren't coming," Miranda said, turning her head to the side and whispering into Andrea's ear.

"I got the samples from Donatella. I don't know why, but I just felt like I had to shower after being in that studio," Andrea said. "Did you get my text?"

Miranda turned her head again. "Yes, and I can't believe she said that to you," she said. She had apparently leaned over too far because her nose was completely buried in Andrea's hair. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp, clean scent of the young woman's Joico shampoo. "Your hair is still damp," Miranda said, turning back to the podium, running her fingers softly through the brunette strands.

Andrea nodded and sat there while Miranda played with her hair, because that's the kind of thing she recently came to expect from Miranda Priestly.

It began a few months back. Miranda was smiling more. Then there was the fluttering of eyelashes, blushing, looking away, smirking. Soon, they graduated to brushing hands, soft fingers resting on an arm or at the small of the back. Walking closer, sitting closer. Quiet whispers and giggles (or snorts, in Miranda's case). Everyone seemed to acknowledge that the two had some sort of relationship, and accepted it at face value as a friendship, though the pair had never spoke of things like "friendship" or "relationship," because there was simply no need to try and define it and ruin a good thing. She was just Andrea, and she was just Miranda.

"Oh, there you two are," Nigel said, joining the picnic table. "Scoot down," he whispered to them.

Miranda moved all the way to the end, and Andrea moved into the spot she had just vacated.

"I warmed the bench for you," Miranda whispered as the cool concrete sent a chill through her body.

"Mmm, you did," Andrea said. "You and your _hot ass_," she added.

Miranda rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. It was that face she made when she was desperately trying not to laugh.

Andrea mentally high-fived herself, then turned her focus to the rest of the presentation. "Are you going back to the office?" she asked.

Miranda thought about it for a moment. "No. Why, are you?"

"Yeah, I have to confirm some appointments," she said.

"Oh, well, don't stay too late," she said. "I don't need the Book tonight."

Later that week, Andrea was seated at Miranda's kitchen table, because, why not? It's only Oscar. Andrea was sitting between Miranda and Nigel, and desperately tried to keep her eyes down. She had never met Mr. de la Renta, and having pasta with him in this informal setting was making her very uncomfortable.

Suddenly, she felt something against her ankle under the table. It wasn't Patricia, because she was still curled up on the rug in front of the refrigerator. Slowly looking up, she saw Nigel and Oscar deep in conversation, while Miranda was twirling some pasta on her fork. Andrea locked eyes with her and realized it was Miranda's foot.

"Are you okay?" Miranda mouthed. Her concern was obvious.

Andrea nodded and sipped her wine as Miranda continued to softly stroke her shin with her foot. When the evening was over, Miranda called Roy to drive Oscar back to his hotel, and Nigel rode home with him as well.

"Thank you for dinner," Andrea said. "Can I help you clean up or anything?"

"No, don't be ridiculous. I have been known to double as a French maid," she said.

Andrea smiled, "I'd love to see that."

"C'est vrai?" Miranda asked.

Andrea blushed and turned to the door. "Uh, if you don't need anything else, I will see you on Monday," she said.

Miranda quickly looked up. "At least stay until I can have Roy come back. It's too late and I don't want you taking a taxi by yourself."

"So, French maid but not chauffeur?" Andrea asked.

"Oh—well, I guess I could," Miranda said. She was caught off-guard by the young woman.

"No, no. I was just kidding. I'm sorry, that wasn't funny," Andrea said. She took a deep breath and turned away.

"Wait, what's wrong?" Miranda asked.

"Nothing. It's just—never mind."

"No, tell me," Miranda says, reaching down and taking her hand. "Was it something I said?"

"It's—I—I never know with you. This back and forth—this _teasing_."

Miranda waited a moment before speaking. "Do you like it when I _tease_?" she asked quietly.

"See?! That's it. You're doing it again," Andrea said.

"It's an honest question," she said softly.

Andrea sighed. "You're right. It deserves an honest answer."

Miranda bit her lip and looked down at the floor.

"Yes and no," Andrea said. "I like it because you're smiling and laughing and we're not talking about work. I don't like it because sometimes I forget we aren't just joking around."

"And if I told you I was serious?" Miranda said.

Andrea stepped closer and took Miranda's hands in her own. "Then I most definitely want to see this French maid in action," she said with a grin.


	17. Rupture

**Prompt from Anon: "Miranda ruptured her appendix. Established Mirandy."**

Andrea opened the door to the townhouse, setting down her bags and hanging her coat in the closet. As she set her bag on the kitchen table, she noticed Miranda's keys. "Miranda?" she called, looking through the den and the kitchen. "Miranda, are you home?" she repeated as she began to climb the stairs. Walking into the bedroom, she gasped when she saw Miranda curled up on the bed.

"Sweetheart, how was your day?" Miranda asked.

Andrea ignored the question. "What's wrong, Miranda?"

"Nothing, why does something have to be wrong?"

"Stop lying to me. Is it a headache? Your back? Your hip?"

"You make me sound like a crippled old woman. It's…it's just an upset stomach."

Andrea's eyes widened. "Do you think it's food poisoning?"

"No, I don't think so," Miranda said. "I haven't eaten anything since dinner."

"When did it start?" Andrea asked, gently rubbing circles on Miranda's lower back.

"Once I got to the office. Look, I'm sure it's just a twenty-four hour bug. I just need to rest a little."

"Miranda, you only leave work early if it's an emergency. Can I get you some hot tea? A heating pad?" she said. She bent over and kissed Miranda softly on the forehead. "Oh my god, you're burning up. I'm calling the doctor."

"Don't you dare," Miranda said. "I'll be fine. I am _not_ going to the doctor for a stomach ache. I'll take an antacid or something."

Andrea nodded and headed downstairs to fetch the water. While down there, she quickly emailed Miranda's doctor and texted Emily to see what really happened at the office today.

When she returned upstairs, Miranda was still laying on the bed, but her blouse and pants were in a pile next to the bed. Her skin was glistening with perspiration, and her cheeks were flushed. Andrea quickly set the glass of ice water on the nightstand and grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, running it under cold water.

"Sweetie," Andrea said, sitting on the bed and laying the cloth across her forehead, "How are you doing?"

"Fine. Just a little warm."

Andrea rolled her eyes and leaned over to kiss her lips. "Miranda Priestly, you are insane and I am madly in love with you."

Miranda groaned and turned onto her side, bringing her knees up to her chest.

Andrea softly chewed on her lower lip as she ran her fingers through the short silvery hair. Even though they had been together for several years, she had never seen Miranda in physical pain like this. She quietly stood and pulled a pair of yoga pants and a zip-up jacket from the closet.

"Come on, you're going to see the doctor," Andrea said. The fact that Miranda did not refuse said something about how much pain she was in. Once she was dressed, Andrea helped her downstairs and into the car.

"_You_ are driving?" Miranda asked. "I've never seen you behind the wheel."

"First time for everything," Andrea said with a wink.

Miranda didn't respond. Andrea started the car, and saw Miranda gripping her stomach, holding her breath. Once she pulled out of the driveway, she reached over and took Miranda's hand.

By the time they arrived at the emergency room, Miranda was on the verge of passing out. They quickly took her for a CT scan, and quickly determined she was suffering from acute appendicitis and would need emergency laparoscopic surgery.

"Isn't this something _children_ have?" Miranda moaned.

Andrea leaned over and pressed a kiss to her lips. "Don't tempt me to make a joke about your childish habits, sweetie," she said. "This procedure will be quick, and I can take you home as soon as it's over."

"Andrea—thank you. I love you, darling."


	18. Because of You

**Prompt from Anon: "Mirandy Prompt: Because Of You by Reba McEntire and Kelly Clarkson."**

"So, Andy, what do you say?" Nick asked.

Andrea took a deep breath. _Mrs. Nicholas Seward_ did have a nice ring to it, and of course, Nick was a great guy, but it just wasn't the life she wanted. He had a great position as an essayist at _Vanity Fair_, and she knew it could only help her career to accept his proposal…but there was still Miranda.

"Nick, my god, this is such a surprise. I mean, I wasn't expecting this—so soon," she said.

He smiled, though she could tell her was hurt she didn't immediately accept. "I get it. You're a smart woman. Take a while—consider it."

Andrea nodded. "I have some work to do tomorrow, so I'm going to head back to my place," she said. "It's not because of this—I just, I need to get some rest. It's been a long week."

"Okay. Goodnight, Andy. I love you."

She smiled and waved, quickly pulling her cell phone out. Her fingers hovered over Miranda's name, but instead, she called Nigel.

"Hey Six, what's going on?" he answered. "I thought you would have been in bed by now."

"Nigel, Nick just proposed to me."

"Well well, congratulations!" he said.

"No. I—I don't think I can marry him."

"What? Sweetie, if you don't want him, I will gladly take him off your hands," Nigel teased. "Wait, let me guess—this is about Miranda, isn't it?"

"Nige, I can't do what she did. She's broken. I know you've seen it, too. I can't do that to someone," Andrea said.

"Okay, sweetie, why don't you just talk to Miranda about it, you know, get her honest story. We all know you're the only one she would ever talk to about that stuff."

Andrea smiled. He was right. Miranda was extremely private, but ever since Paris three years ago, Miranda somehow learned to trust Andrea. Even after she left _Runway _rather unprofessionally, Miranda still sought Andrea out from time to time.

"I don't think she has anything going on tomorrow," he said. "And she was actually just talking about you the other day."

"Really?"

"Yes. Six, I still don't know whatever happened between you two, but she honestly likes you, and aside from the girls, I don't think she likes anyone else in the world."

"Wow. Well, okay. Maybe I'll send her an email."

Nigel sighed. "You and your passive-aggressive emails. You _know_ she doesn't read them. Just go there. And Six—take care of yourself, okay?"

"Thanks, Nigel," she said, hanging up the phone.

So, there she was. It was one o'clock in the afternoon, and she was standing at Miranda's door. She knocked, and when no one answered, she turned around. Suddenly, the door swung open.

"Andrea?"

She spun around. "Oh, hi, Miranda."

"What are you doing here?"

Andrea sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you," she said, quickly regretting her decision.

"Don't be ridiculous. Come inside," she said.

Andrea nodded and followed Miranda to the sitting room upstairs. Miranda poured her a glass of water, and took a seat in one of the armchairs. "How have you been? I haven't seen you since, what, the Women in Media benefit? You were there with Nicholas from _Vanity_, weren't you."

"Yeah. It's been a few weeks," she said. "How are you and the girls?"

"The girls are _teenagers_ now, and they seem to think that is the equivalent of an excuse for acting stupid. I never thought I would say this, but I cannot wait for them to grow up just a little bit more," Miranda said. She took a sip of her coffee. "But I know you didn't come across town to ask me how the girls were. What is on your mind?"

"Uh, well, I—can I ask you a personal question?" Andrea said.

Miranda frowned. "Go on," she said.

"Why did you marry Stephen?"

"Hmm, quite personal. I thought I loved him. I thought I needed someone. And maybe at the time, I did. I don't know," she said with a shrug.

"So then why did you get divorced?"

Miranda stood and walked over to the window. "If you remember correctly, Stephen divorced me."

"I remember. But I also remember how he treated you before he sent the papers. I remember thinking that you didn't act like a husband and wife."

Miranda gently sat on the windowsill and crossed her arms over her chest. "You know, sometimes I really don't miss you pointing out my personal flaws," she said. "You always could see through me—through the fake smiles and laughs—and see that I was unhappy."

Andrea stood and walked over to the window, draping her arm over the woman's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I just cared about you too much to turn my head—I couldn't just sit and watch your heart shatter."

Miranda wiped her eye. "I don't think it was ever whole," she said quietly. Andrea hugged her tightly, but Miranda pushed away and walked to the other side of the room. "Don't—don't do that. Don't make me cry. I'm not weak, I'm not," she said, sobbing into her hands.

"Miranda," she said, sitting next to her on the couch. "Please, I don't think that. I'm sorry."

"Andrea, please leave. I can't do this right now."

Andrea nods. "I love you. Take care of yourself," she said before heading out the door. She wasn't ready to head home just yet, because that would mean dealing with her own reality. Instead, she took a long walk through the park, thinking about Miranda.

In the ten months she worked for her at _Runway_, she watched the woman's personal life crumble, culminating in her tears over the divorce. It wasn't until after she left _Runway _that she realized how much Miranda had been relying on her, trusting her. But, Miranda was a selfish person, and as much as she hated to say it, she did it to herself.

As she was lost in her thoughts, her phone buzzed with a text message. It was from Miranda. _Why did you come over today?_

Andrea quickly responded: _Nick Seward proposed. _

As she tucked her phone back into her pocket, she realized that if she were to marry Nick, she would be just as selfish as Miranda. The Miranda she knew to be broken and miserable. The Miranda she loved.

Andrea knew in that moment that she needed to see Miranda, and then to tell Nick no—in that order. She ran up the steps to the townhouse, pounding on the door. It was already growing dark outside, and though the lights were off, she knew Miranda would be home.

Miranda turned the hall light on and opened the door while the young woman walked in. "Congratulations, Andrea. Nicholas is quite established in publishing, and he seems like a very nice man. I wish you the best," she said, holding a tissue up to her lower eyelid.

Andrea's eyes widened as she saw Miranda's red, swollen eyes. "I'm not marrying Nick."

"Oh, you aren't?" Miranda said, feigning disinterest.

"No, Miranda. I'm not marrying him because of you," Andrea said. At this, Miranda's eyes widened. "I've seen what it did to you, how it's still killing you. It's not worth it to play safe and protect your heart." She stepped closer and squeezed Miranda's hand. "And because of you, I won't commit to a life that I don't want."

"Wh—what do you want?" Miranda asked breathlessly. Their lips were inches apart.

"You," Andrea said, smiling brilliantly up at the older woman. "I want you—the unhappiness, the real smiles, the working late, the tears—I want it all."

Miranda leaned forward and captured Andrea's lips. She gently pushed away, again wiping her eyes. "You actually mean all that, don't you? I don't know what I ever did to deserve this, but I am never letting you go," she said, burying her face in Andrea's neck. "I love you, too, darling."


	19. Flowers

**Prompt from Anon: "Established Mirandy. Trouble in paradise. Miranda's feeling a bit neglected. Based on the song You Don't Bring Me Flowers of Barbra Streisand. Ending could be happy or not, writer's choice."**

* * *

"…and we're leaving at 5:30 tomorrow morning for Montauk if you're still coming. Emily should have packed my bag this afternoon, and Cara and I packed the girls. Oh, one more thing, if you're home before me, can you make sure Cassidy puts some ointment on her burnt shoulders? I would hate for that to leave a scar. See you in bed."

She grimaced, mentally berating herself for not checking her messages earlier. _See you in bed._Was that what her life had come down to? The only time she spent with her wife anymore was in bed? Maybe they would have a chance to talk about it this week. Andrea tucked her phone back into her purse and stepped out of the bathroom.

"Hey John, do you need me to stick around?" she asked.

He looked down at the coat and bag in her hand. "Nah, you've schmoozed enough. Go—and have a nice week off!"

Smiling, she quickly left and hailed a taxi home. She wasn't surprised to find three bags lined up in the foyer, only a dim light in the kitchen still on. She turned it out and headed upstairs. The lights were out in the girls' bedrooms, so she continued up to the third floor.

Miranda was in bed, going over the book. She didn't even lift her eyes or break her concentration. Andrea changed into her pajamas, and then packed her duffle bag, which Miranda had left out for her. When she was finished, she carried it downstairs, placing it next to the others. She set the alarm on her phone, then walked over to the nightstand and plugged it into the charger before climbing into bed.

Miranda softly sighed, then she took off her glasses and set them on the nightstand with the book. She reached up and turned out the light, then tossed one of the throw pillows onto the floor as she snuggled into the pillow.

"Early start tomorrow," Miranda said quietly.

"Yeah, I'm hoping to get some sleep tonight," Andrea said.

"We can take a later train if you want. I can have Emily resched-"

"No, it's fine, I'm just tired."

"Oh. Sorry. I was just making conversation."

They lay in silence for several minutes.

"Did you want to stay up and talk for a while?" Andrea asked. "Or, did you want to—?"

"No. Let's just get some sleep. I hope we've packed enough sunscreen for all the laying on the beach the girls seem to have planned."

"I'm sure Cara remembered," Andrea said.

"Remember when we used to sneak off to Montauk?"

"Yes," Andrea said. "I thought you said you didn't want to stay up and talk?"

Miranda shifted on the mattress. "Sorry. I just miss you. I miss _us_."

"Huh? What do you mean? I'm right here," she said, reaching over and laying her hand on Miranda's shoulder.

"No, I mean, like, the way things used to be. You don't bring me flowers anymore."

"Miranda, if you're trying to tell me you don't love me anymo—"

"No, I still love you. It's just—we hardly see each other anymore. I mean, you didn't even say hello when you walked in tonight," Miranda said.

"Well, god forbid I disturb you while you're going over the blessed book."

"Stop. You know that I don't work on anything serious here in bed. I was just looking through it so I could stay awake for you. I was waiting for you, and all you want to do is sleep."

"You just rolled over and turned out the light."

"And you just plugged in your phone and turned onto your side!" Miranda said. "I remember…I remember when you couldn't wait to love me. We made love everywhere between the front door and the bedroom. You used to run up the stairs and throw yourself on top of me. And then there was that time at the office…"

"I remember that."

"When was the last time you kissed me just because you felt like it, Andrea?"

"I kiss you every morning."

"That's a habit. I mean, do you look at me and _want_ me anymore? You know, you just have to have me?"

"Do you?" Andrea asked. "I'll admit I have been a little distracted with work lately, but I'm home early a few nights a week now. You hardly talk to me when I walk through the door at the end of a long day."

Miranda sighed. "Andrea, forget it. I don't want to have this conversation now."

"Well I think it's too late for that," Andrea said. "I don't need to talk to you as much now, I remember everything you've ever told me.

"I remember that, too, when we would lay in bed for hours, talking about forever—but that's not a singular experience. You showed me how to love—how to follow my heart when everything else is telling me not to. You showed me how to _feel _my life, how to laugh and how to cry."

"And you showed me how to…how to lie," Andrea said.

"Are you saying—have you—?"

"No. There will never be anyone else."

"If you don't want to go with us tomorrow," Miranda said, "that's okay. I'll explain to the girls—"

"I want to go with you and the girls. I'm going."

"Good. I look forward to spending time together. You know, getting reacquainted."

"Does it really feel to you like we've been apart?"

Miranda nodded.

"Come here," Andrea said, opening her arms. "Tell me what I can do," she said.

Miranda sighed and turned into her arms. "Buy me flowers," she said, "but that doesn't mean I want you to setup a recurring order. Emily can do that—hell, I can even do that. I want you to handpick them."

Andrea smiled and hugged her tight. "I can do that, darling. I can do that."


	20. Out

**Prompt from smile-like-santana: "Could you maybe write something about Miranda taking Andrea to an event where they'll come out? Just…the event and you know, the stress and stuff. Maybe their first public kiss?"**

* * *

Miranda sifted through her mail, pausing to read an invitation. "Emily," she called, handing the invite to her assistant, "put this on my calendar, and invite Andrea."

"Yes, Miranda," the redhead said, taking the invite.

Emily knew about the pair for the better part of the past year, though the media was still, surprisingly, unaware. She always wondered if Miranda was one of those untouchable celebrities—the type that the paparazzi, deep down, actually respected. As she noted the upcoming amfAR Gala in the editor's calendar, she forwarded the invite to Andrea, then sat for a moment staring at the phone.

"Hey, Em," Nigel said, walking up to her desk.

Emily shook her head and held her hand up. "Wait for it…" she said, her eyes fixed on the phone.

Just then, the phone rang and Emily answered with an I-told-you-so grin on her face.

"Em, what the hell is this?"

"No, I'm sorry she's not available at the moment," Emily said.

"Someone is standing there. Miranda?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Nigel?"

"Shall I leave word?"

"Emily! Cut it out. Put me through. And tell Nigel I said hi."

Emily rolled her eyes and transferred the call to Miranda's line. "Andrea says hi," she said to Nigel as she stood and closed Miranda's office door.

"You're not still jealous, are you?" he asked.

"What? No. Of course not. Why would I ever be jealous of that frumpy girl and her honest-to-goodness articles in that free newspaper?"

"Em, you know what I mean. You can't carry a torch forever."

She smiled softly and shook her head. "I know. I'm not. It's just—well, hard—being one of the only people who knows about them."

Nigel slowly nodded. "It is. But Miranda is not an easy woman to love, I'll tell you that. I can only imagine what it would be like if the media knew."

Emily swallowed. "I think we're going to be finding out next weekend."

Nigel's eyebrows arched upwards.

"She invited Andrea to amfAR."

"Oh, lord have mercy on us all! And let me guess, Six doesn't know yet?"

Emily pointed to the closed door and Nigel simply shook his head. "You tell Miranda I need to speak with her in _my_ office when she's through," he said, turning on his heel and walking away.

"Hello, darling, I was just thinking of you," Miranda said.

"amfAR Gala?"

"Is there a verb coming?" Miranda asked playfully.

Andrea sighed. "Why do you want me to go to the amfAR gala with you?"

"Because I love you."

Andrea rolled her eyes. She didn't have much time before her meeting with John, so she needed to get to the point. "The press doesn't know about us yet, aside from that one photo of us with the girls and Patricia at the park. I don't think we can keep it a secret if I go as your date next week."

"Are you turning down my invitation, Andrea?"

"No, I'm just asking you to clarify. Will I be on your arm or arriving separately?"

"You will be on my arm—that is, if you accept the invite."

"Miranda, I haven't even told—I mean, this is so sudden. I just—"

"Shhh," she whispered, her voice soothing even over the connection. "Don't get worked up. Let's talk about it tonight."

"Okay," she said. "Listen, I have to run to a meeting."

"I do too. I'll call you later," Miranda said, hanging up. She sat for a minute, staring out her window. Three months ago they had discussed their 'coming out' and at the time, neither of them were too interested in the added media pressure. But so much had changed since then: Andrea moved into the townhouse, they officially told James, Nigel, and Doug, Andrea came out to her parents, and Miranda bought Andrea a ring.

Sighing, she knew she couldn't push this. This was something Andrea had to accept at her own pace. She stood and opened her office door.

"Oh, Miranda— Nigel wants to see you in his office."

"His office? He doesn't—" Miranda began. "Oh."

Emily shrugged. "He was standing here when she called. Is there anything else?"

"Cancel my afternoon," she said, marching off to the Closet.

"Nigel, this is _not _your _office_," she said as she stepped inside.

"No, but it's the next best thing unless you want to give me part of yours?"

Miranda smiled and took a seat on the stool next to him. "Alright, what is it this time?"

"You're coming out?"

"My, you do cut to the quick. I was considering it."

"Without consulting Andy?"

"No, no. We've talked about it, of course. I was just thinking this could be a good opportunity, but of course the email preceded my conversation with her."

"Miranda, I don't think it's a good—"

"Nigel, don't tell me whether or not it's a good idea. I am perfectly capable of logic and analysis on my own. I know she's still a little insecure with us, and I am really hoping that she will relax once the pressure of keeping things secret is off. Sometimes, it's like she's paranoid—looking around corners, checking for security cameras, covering her face. I want her to be comfortable around me, in my life," she said.

"But—"

"I'm not finished. I also know that because of her insecurity, she would be willing to do nearly anything to keep me happy—even if it is something she really does not want to do at all, like coming out in public. I have to make sure she understands that whatever her decision, it has no impact on my feelings for her."

"You really do love her, don't you?"

Miranda arched her eyebrow. "Of course I do. Why would you even ask?"

"Miranda, have you thought about how coming out would affect you? The girls? Your career? _Runway_'s future?"

"Of course I have," Miranda said, standing up. "I don't have to sit here and listen to you challenge me like this," she said as she stormed out. "Emily, coat, bag."

Once Miranda was in the elevator on her way to the town car, Nigel quickly sent a text message to Andrea: _Just talked with M. She says she's worried about you, but flipped out on me when I asked her how it would affect her, the girls, her job… just a heads' up. If you need a place to stay tonight, you know where I live. _

Nearly an hour later, Andrea checked her phone as she was leaving her meeting with John. Twelve missed calls and one text message. No surprise, the calls were from Miranda and the text was from Nigel. She quickly sent a note to Miranda, explaining that she was on her way home.

At the townhouse, Miranda was pacing in the den. She couldn't get Nigel's words out of her mind. All this time, she had been so focused on Andrea, she hadn't stopped to think about the further implications. As much as she hated to admit that the details of her personal life could impact _Runway—_and not her position per se, but the magazine's success as a whole—she knew it was very possible.

Every day there are stories in the news about protests of companies because they support gays, or because they don't. The only way to win, it seems, is by having no official opinion. _Runway_, by and large, has been a silent supporter of same-sex marriage for years, if for no reason other than there seems to be more of an inclination in the fashion industry itself. But, Miranda knew that many of the wealthy men on the Elias Clarke board of directors were strongly rooted in their conservative political beliefs. It was hard enough for them to admit that a woman was driving their proverbial ship—and if that woman is suddenly a _lesbian_, there would certainly be a mutiny.

She was so lost in thought, she didn't even hear the door open, or Andrea enter the room.

"Hey."

"We can't do this," Miranda said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up at all."

"Wait, wait, wait. What are you even talking about?" Andrea asked, taking her hands and leading her to the sofa. "Start from the beginning."

Miranda frowned, and then pursed her lips to keep from crying. "I love you. So much. I don't want to do things without you. We already spend so much time apart with work, I just…I saw the invite and imagined us going together. But I've been thinking, and…we can't go."

"But what if I want to?"

"You'd only be saying that because you don't want to lose me."

Andrea blinked. Sometimes she forgot that she was dating Miranda Priestly, bitch extraordinaire. "Well, that's partly true—I don't want to lose you. But I'm quite capable of making decisions on my own. We talked about it. And I think it's time. I'm tired of sharing you with all the people who don't know."

Miranda managed a weak smile.

"I want to do this, Miranda. Whether it's at amfAR, in Central Park, or at the Starbucks across from Elias Clarke, I want us to be public. I want to really start out lives together," she said.

"Andrea, I don't think we can," she said. "There—there's too much at stake. More than half of the board is conservative. They could shut down the magazine. _My _magazine. What I've worked so hard for—"

"Miranda, have you been saving and investing?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"I don't need specifics, but do you have enough to live on—comfortably—for the next fifty years?"

"Well, uh, yes. Why?"

"You don't need the magazine, Miranda. You could walk away, and we could live happily forever. Don't you see?"

"You want me to leave _Runway_," she said.

"No! Geez. I'm trying to make a point. _I want to be with you for-ev-er. _Forever, Miranda."

Miranda looked up at Andrea through soggy eyelashes. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Andrea smiled. "You're ridiculous sometimes, but I love you anyway," she said, throwing her arms around the woman.

"What about Pastis?" Miranda said.

"For what? Dinner?"

"No. Well, sure. But I mean, instead of the amfAR gala."

"OH. Um, yeah. Let's do it," Andrea said with a smile. "Tonight."

Miranda smiled back and gripped her hands. "Okay. I'll go upstairs and fix my makeup. Can you let the girls know, just so they don't freak out?"

"Sure thing, though if it were up to them, we would have gone public long ago. I'm surprised Cassidy hasn't sold any of those photos from her phone to _The Post_ yet."

"Maybe we should pick out a few good ones and do just that. I'm sure they'd be willing to pay, you know," Miranda said. "And we could donate it back to a non-profit."

"Sounds perfect. The girls just texted me back the thumbs-up emoji, so I think we're good," Andrea said. "Are you ready?"

Miranda nodded. "And darling—I want forever, too."


	21. Refusal

**Prompt from Anon: "so, if you're still taking #mirandy prompts (i hope you are!), i was thinking something in miranda's voice where she realizes she doesn't like it when she doesn't get her way. that's all."**

* * *

There comes a point in time when you realize you've been going about your days with a little voice inside your head. Fifty years on this earth and I am just now beginning to hear it, and to listen.

It began this morning. I can hardly remember what she was wearing because I was so caught off guard. I stepped out of the town car just as she was kissing a scruffy-looking young man on the sidewalk. I presume she knew him. He was probably her boyfriend, but I didn't want to admit it. _Why not, _the little voice asked.

Why not, indeed. Why not, because he was probably the reason she turned down my invitations. Coffee, a glass of wine, a ride home, dinner. She always said no, and I never understood why. Now, I believe I do.

I had been _dressing for her_ for the past five weeks, that voice reminded me. Hoping she would take notice and—and then what? Smile, perhaps? Oh, Andrea, why won't you just smile for me.

Nigel just walked in and showed me the new layout. I told him I wanted periwinkle, not cornflower. Without a doubt, I know he is back at his desk, bringing the color temperature up to cornflower. No one dares to tell me "no."

The closest anyone ever came, really, was Andrea. During her interview. And in Paris. And after Paris. _You always get your way, except when it comes to Andrea. _It was true, wasn't it?

By eight o'clock, I thought for sure I was going crazy. No one—ever—in my life has flat-out refused me the way in which Andrea had. What baffled me most was that I continue to let her do this. I continue to extend the invitations, knowing she continues to decline. Why? Because I don't know any other way.

I call for my coat and bag, and Emily meets me at the door. She sent Andrea home hours ago. Probably had a date with her boyfriend.

Maybe it was true—that saying about only wanting what you can't have. That was how I felt. Forget the magazine. Forget my daughters. Forget my career. I felt like a complete and utter failure because I could not get that which I wanted most: Andrea Sachs.

And what did I want with her anyway? Nothing specific. I just wanted her to look at me. To see me, to smile. Any sort of acknowledgment of my desire.

It just isn't fair, I thought to myself. She is so beautiful, so charming, but she refuses me. I could give her the world, and yet, she's kissing Bozo, who I think was wearing Sketchers and Dickies. I shudder at the thought.

I cannot go on like this. Something has got to give. Looking down at my phone, I make a rash decision and call her. She has to answer the phone. I may not like her response, but _I pay her to answer her phone_.

"Come to the townhouse. Now," I say, hanging up before she can say a word. And now, I wait. It isn't long—maybe five minutes—before she climbs out of a taxi and runs up the stairs.

She asks if everything is okay, and I simply turn and head into the den. I know she will follow. But, can I get her to stay?

"Miranda, why am I here?" she asks after I hand her a glass of wine.

I hiss back something about her being smart enough to figure it out. That voice tells me to dial it back or I'll scare her away. I take a deep breath, and explain to her that no one refuses me.

Her eyes grow wide, and she looks utterly terrified. Oh god, I've gone too far again. My brain scrambles to do damage control. "Wait!" I said, reaching out to grab her wrist. I deliberately softened my tone to match the delicate grasp I had on her hand. I explained that I hadn't meant it the way it sounded.

"What do you want from me?" she asked. The terror was gone, but her voice still trembled. She sounded so small. I felt the need to wrap my arms around her, though I knew she would probably push me away if I came any nearer.

She repeated her question, but I was lost in my thoughts. I don't _do_ defeat. I don't _handle_ loss. _Second best_ is not in my vocabulary. Why was this young woman making me consider these options, then?

"You," I choked out. "I want…you." There. I said it.

Her eyes widened as her brain caught up. I nodded, reassuring her that she did, in fact, hear what she thought she did. "So—so that's what this has all been about?"

I shook my head. Surely, I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Miranda," she said, "I need an explanation. This isn't about choosing tourmaline over opal or rock studs over sequins. This is—oh, wait," she said. I feared she, too, was hearing the little voice. "You're pouting, aren't you?"

_Am not! _the voice shouted inside me. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused my lips into a slim line. Then, I felt her other hand reach up and take mine. I opened my eyes to see her, smiling back at me. I had to blink several times to ensure she wasn't a figment of my imagination.

"You know, I could tease you…but I won't," she said. "Just explain one thing—why _me?"_

"You didn't let me get my way."


	22. Newborn

**Prompt from Aj: "Their honeymoon, um, a funeral, first night the baby is home, and a hostage situation!" **

**A/N: I'm going to take these one at a time. First night the baby is home**

* * *

"Cass, run up and open the front door," Andrea said. "Care, please help your mom out of the front seat—and remember, very slowly."

She walked around to the curbside of the car and leaned in, detaching the carrier and gently lifting it out of the car. Locking the doors, she caught up to Miranda and helped her up the front steps. Once everyone was inside, Miranda pointed to the den, and Cassidy arranged some pillows on the sofa while Caroline helped her to sit.

Andrea brought the carrier inside and set it on the sofa next to Miranda while she took off her coat and tossed it on the nearby chair. She watched as Miranda gently unclasped the straps and lifted her from the carrier. Andrea handed the carrier to Caroline, who put it on the floor.

"Welcome home, Catherine," Miranda said softly, cradling the newborn in her arms.

Cassidy squeezed onto the couch next to her mother, and Caroline leaned over the armrest on the other side.

"My girls," Miranda whispered, kissing all three of her daughters on the lips.

Andrea scooted closer and reached her arm around Cass, resting her hand on Miranda's shoulder. Miranda turned and looked, her eyes brimming with happiness. She turned her head and placed a kiss to Andrea's hand.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, just watching the new little life, Catherine started to fuss. "Well, that was nice while it lasted," Caroline said, causing everyone to chuckle and the newborn to cry even louder.

"Care, why don't you help me unload those bags from the car, and then we can make sure everything is all set in Cate's room," Andrea said, wrapping her arm around the girl as they stepped out of the room.

"Mom?" Cassidy asked, "Is Cate hungry?"

"Probably," Miranda said as she undid the top few buttons on her blouse and unclasped a hook on her bra.

Cassidy watched in amazement as her little sister latched on. "Is she too little for a bottle?" she asked.

"No, sweetheart. It's healthier for Cate to drink my milk right now. She needs all the natural goodness to grow strong and healthy," Miranda said.

"What if she's hungry and you're not home?"

Miranda smiled. "I'll make enough milk and keep it in the refrigerator just for her, and you or your sister or Andrea can feed her."

"Oh cool."

Miranda smiled. "Cassidy, darling, I love you so much. And Catherine loves you very much, too. I need you to be a really good big sister, okay?"

"Yeah. Andy already had the talk with me. You don't love me less, you need me to help out…I know. And Cate," she said, softly brushing her finger against the tiny cheek, "I'm going to teach you everything I know."

Andrea came back into the room. "Hey Cass, can you help Care get the bassinet ready? Cate is going to sleep in our bedroom for a while before we move her into the baby's room, okay?"

Cass nodded and jumped from the couch, racing up the stairs.

Andrea sighed and sat next to Miranda on the couch, softly taking Cate's tiny fingers. "Mir, I love you so much," she said as she tucked her head into her shoulder.

"Let's stay like this forever," Miranda whispered, softly kissing Andrea's forehead.

Several minutes later, Cate had apparently had enough. Miranda re-fastened her bra and tugged her shirt closed. Andrea draped a cloth over her shoulder and carefully took Cate from Miranda's arms, gently patting her back as she coaxed a quiet burp from her.

Andrea looked over at Miranda. "You haven't stopped smiling since we came home," she said.

"I know. I can't help it," she said. "Let's go upstairs. She'll sleep for a few hours now, and I wouldn't mind a nap, too."

Andrea nodded, then looked around, searching for somewhere to set the baby down. Miranda pointed to the carrier on the floor behind her, and she gently set her down. Andrea slipped her hands underneath Miranda's arms.

"Slow—" Miranda cautioned.

Andrea nodded and slowly helped her to her feet. She saw Miranda grimace. "Are you okay?"

"The stitches are tight, that's all."

Andrea bent down and picked up Cate again, cradling her with her right arm while she offered Miranda her left, slowly climbing up the stairs. They laid Cate in her bassinet in the corner of the master bedroom, then pulled the shade so it would be dark for her. Andrea turned on a dim lamp on the nightstand as Miranda rearranged some pillows before sitting on the bed.

"Do you need—?"

"No," Miranda said, waving off the assistance. "The bed's higher. It's fine," she said. She pressed a finger to her lips and pointed at the bassinet. Andrea nodded and climbed into bed behind her.

"Miranda, you're amazing," she whispered, softly hugging her and pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Mmm, keep telling me that," she said, turning on her side and pulling Andrea close. "Thank you so much, darling, for giving me the perfect family. I'm happier right now than I ever dreamed, and it's all because of you."

"I love our perfect family, and I love you," she said. "Let's get some sleep."


	23. Water

**Prompt from Anon: "Mirandy were fighting when Miranda's water broke. The whole labor process with Miranda extremely pissed at Andy."**

**A/N: This ended up as a sort of prequel to the previous short "Newborn," so I suggest reading them together. **

* * *

Miranda stared at the clock. It was 5:14 PM. Andrea was late—again. Every day this week, she gave a different excuse. Last night, though, Miranda couldn't take it and after an hour-long screaming match, Andrea slept in the guest room. She didn't come to say goodbye before she left in the morning, and that sent a pang of guilt through Miranda all day.

Just over seven months ago she learned she was pregnant. It was quite a surprise since she had been dating Andrea at that point, but in the beginning, Andrea was supportive and helpful. Everything was going perfectly. Andrea moved in during the second trimester, and the girls were even happy to have her around. Again, everything was going fine. Until the past few weeks.

The girls finished the school year and took a train to their grandmother's for a month. They would be returning just after the baby was born, when Miranda would be taking a three-month leave from _Runway_. She was looking forward to the time off more than she was willing to admit.

But right now, she just wanted Andrea to come home so she could apologize.

She pushed herself off the couch with a grunt and waddled into the kitchen for a glass of water. She needed something to distract herself, and considering she'd been to the bathroom almost twenty times since she woke up, the hydration couldn't hurt. As she walked, she gently twisted and stretched. The past few days she'd been feeling stiff.

Her belly had grown significantly larger this past week, and simple things like climbing stairs or opening a drawer were near impossible. Still, she tried her best. Miranda Priestly does not give up. Reaching up in the cabinet for a glass, she gasped as she felt a sharp pain and gasped, sending the glass crashing onto the floor.

She gripped the counter for a moment to steady herself. The quick burst of pain was over after a few seconds. She sighed. Each day was more and more uncomfortable, and with the indigestion, gas, and occasional incontinence, she was extremely grateful she let Andrea convince her to take the last few weeks off work.

Miranda carefully pushed away from the counter and looked down at the shattered glass. Attempting to bend down would be futile, and she had no clue where Cara kept anything resembling a broom. Reluctantly, she left a post-it on the counter, reminding Cara to sweep it when she returned. Opting to drink the water straight from the bottle, she headed back to the sofa in the den.

By now, it was nearly six o'clock. It was time to call Andrea.

"Hey—just a second," Andrea said as she answered the phone. There was music and voices in the background, then they were suddenly muted. "Okay, what's up?"

"Andrea, where are you?" Miranda asked.

"Oh, just out to dinner with Adam and Greg and everyone. You know, a team meeting."

All thoughts of apologizing were suddenly gone. "Do you plan on coming home this evening?" Miranda asked.

"Yeah, of course. I was just finishing my drink when you called. I'll be home in an hour."

"Don't bother," Miranda snapped. She burst into tears as soon as she hung up the phone. Immediately, it rang again.

"Miranda, what's wrong?" she asked.

"I shouldn't have to tell you. Finish your _drink_ and figure it out yourself," Miranda said.

"Wait! Don't hang up!" Andrea begged. "I'm getting into a cab now, okay?"

Miranda sniffled.

"Talk to me, tell me how your day was," Andrea said.

"Well…I miss you. I just…I do. It's lonely here and I'm uncomfortable and I can't even pick up a damn glass from the floor."

"Are you feeling okay though? No more false alarms?"

"No." Miranda rolled her eyes. "Do you have work to do tonight?"

"Just a little."

"So you'll sit and watch tv with me?"

"Sure, as soon as I finish the edits on my article."

"Is this what it's going to be like when the baby comes? You working all the time, going out with your coworkers, leaving me alone with the baby?"

"Hey," Andrea said, "Don't worry about it. We will figure it out. Promise."

"Don't worry? All I can do right now is worry," she said, letting out another audible grunt as she felt another pain in her belly.

"I'll be home in five minutes, okay?"

"Fine," she said, hanging up the phone. Miranda set the phone down as tears streamed down her cheeks. She knew she was just overly emotional because of the hormones, but she couldn't help it. Here she was, fifty years old, thirty-eight-and-a-half weeks pregnant, and alone. She traced her hands over her oversized belly, silently praying that her son or daughter would come into this world soon. As least then she'd have someone.

She felt another pain in her belly, but this time, she recognized it as a contraction, a slow-motion punch in the stomach. It lasted nearly thirty seconds, and once it was over, she realized she had been holding her breath.

As promised, five minutes later, Andrea came in the door. She tossed her bags down and sat next to Miranda on the couch. "Has—did your belly get bigger since yesterday?" she asked, gently pressing her palms to her belly.

"Don't touch me!" Miranda said, swatting her hands away. "Why are you even here, Andrea?"

"Huh? Do you want me to sit on the other couch?" she asked.

"No. Here in my house," she said.

"Because I love you, because I want to be with you, Miranda."

"That's not true. You want nothing to do with me. I'm just a big, fat, whiny whale."

"You are not. I know you'll lose all that weight once the baby's born."

Miranda cried even more. "Then why don't you hold me anymore? I miss your hugs," she said through her tears.

"What?! No way. Every time I come close you push me away!" Andrea said.

"Well, that was before. You were annoying me. I don't mean for you to hold my belly!"

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Miranda, I don't have time for this. I'm going upstairs to finish my article," she said.

As Andrea was heading up the stairs, Miranda felt guilty again about the way she had treated her. "Andrea, wait. I'm sorry," she said, getting off the couch with a grunt.

As soon as she stood, she felt a gush of warm moisture between her legs. Looking down with a gasp, she saw a few water droplets on the leather sofa. She awkwardly reached her hand between her legs and felt the wetness.

"Andrea," she said. The slightly panicked tone caused the younger woman to turn around. "Andrea, my water just broke."

"Are you sure it's not just pee? The doctor said your water probably wouldn't break."

Miranda fought the urge to scream at her. "This is not my first time birthing a child. I'm sure," she said.

"But I thought you said the doctor had to break your water after the epidural with the girls?"

"Just get my bag and a clean pair of pants!"

"Wait, are we going to the hospital right now?"

"Yes. Andrea, I think I've been having contractions all day."

"Well, to be fair, that's what you said last time, and the time before that, and the time before that…"

"Andrea so help me god if you don't get me a fucking clean pair of fucking pants I'm going to murder you!" Miranda screamed.

"Okay, okay. I'll be right back," she called, jogging up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Miranda sent a text message to Roy, then used the bathroom and washed her face. Roy was at the door in a matter of seconds. "Are you coming?" Miranda called.

"Just a minute—I'm trying to find my book," she said.

Rage flashed across Miranda's eyes. She grabbed her purse, and just as she took Roy's hand, another contraction caught her by surprise. This one lasted a little longer than the others, and she was grateful for Roy's strong hand as she closed her eyes and breathed through.

Just as she was letting go of Roy's hand, Andrea came down the stairs. "Miranda, they won't admit you unless you're at least dilated four centimeters. Does it feel like you're that far?"

"Now how am I supposed to know?" Miranda said. Roy awkwardly stood in the doorway, still holding Miranda's hand.

"Why don't you change clothes and let me bring you something to eat?"

"I am not hungry."

"If it's a long labor, you'll need your strength. Please? I'll even run and get some spicy pad thai for you," she said.

"You are not leaving me here alone again!"

"No, no, of course not. I meant _Roy _will even go get those for you, okay?"

Miranda nodded and let go of Roy's hand as he headed out to the car. She took the clean clothes from Andrea and headed into the bathroom. Several weeks ago, she selected her hospital outfit: a black Lululemon sport bra and leggings, comfy DKNY underwear, and a blue cotton hooded zip-up jacket. She could still feel fluid leaking out, so she put a slim pad in her underwear as well.

When she walked into the kitchen, she saw Andrea on the floor, cleaning up the broken glass. "Sorry about the glass," she said.

Andrea looked up. "You don't have to apologize. As long as you weren't hurt," she said. "Do you want to lie down for a while?"

Miranda shook her head. "I'll walk around—it feels better."

Andrea finished cleaning the shards from the floor and brought Miranda a banana and a glass of Pellegrino. "Why didn't you call me earlier—when the contractions started?" she asked quietly.

"If I remember correctly, last night you said 'Can't you go five minutes without complaining about something?'—right before you left the bedroom."

"I left because you screamed at the top of your lungs that you wanted me out, if I remember correctly," she said, rolling her eyes. "Are you sure this is labor?"

"Do not roll your eyes at me. Do you think I'm joking?"

"No, but I mean, this is the third time you've tried to tell me 'this is it'—it's hard to know when to take you seriously. And, I mean, it's not like I have experience with this."

"Well, take me seriously now," Miranda said, shifting from foot to foot as she ate the banana.

"You said that last time, too."

"Do you remember what happened to the boy who cried wolf? He got eaten by the wolf, Andrea. Don't fuck with me."

"Okay, okay. What can I do? Rub your back? Draw you a bath? Turn on some Bach?"

Miranda caught her self before she snapped back. "You're smart. Figure it out," she said.

Andrea smiled. "Will you be okay going upstairs for a bath, or did you want to stay down here?" she asked.

"Let's go upstairs," she said. Part way up the staircase, she had to stop, breathing through another contraction.

"We should probably start timing them," Andrea said. Although, by that, she obviously meant that she was going to start timing them. She quickly filled the bath and began playing Miranda's favorite CD: Bach's Brandenburg Concertos.

Miranda came into the bathroom, and moaned as she sank into the hot water.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," Miranda said as she leaned back. "I guess I didn't realize how uncomfortable I had been." She smoothed her hands over her belly. "What are we going to do with a baby, Andrea?"

Andrea smiled. "We're going to love her and spoil her silly."

"You still think it's a girl?"

"I do. But if it's a boy, I'll love him just as much."

Miranda chuckled. "I wouldn't really know what to do with a boy. We could ask Nigel, but I doubt he'd be any help."

"We'll figure it out," Andrea said. She kneeled behind the tub and placed her hands on Miranda's shoulders, gently kneading. "Is this okay?"

Miranda nodded and she felt the tension begin to drain from her body. Nearly an hour later, Andrea helped Miranda out of the tub and back into her clothes. With the promising smell of pad thai coming from the kitchen, they made their way back downstairs.

After eating, it was almost nine o'clock. Miranda's contractions started once again, and she discovered that leaning forward over a chair or table helped to ease the pain. Andrea began keeping track of them on her phone, and it seemed like they were six or so minutes apart.

As her hands massaged Miranda's lower back, she pressed a kiss to the woman's shoulder. "How are you doing?" she asked.

"They're stronger now. I think we should go," Miranda said.

Andrea nodded and sent a quick note to Roy. He was still waiting outside, so they were on their way to the hospital in no time.

Since they'd been in the car, Miranda had two contractions, the second which caused her to cry out. "Why don't you try kneeling on the seat," Andrea suggested. "It might help take some pressure off?"

Miranda awkwardly changed positions, and Andrea watched her belly ripple and tighten in front of her eyes as another contraction gripped her. Andrea's hand traced gentle circles on her back.

"Just like that, Miranda," she said when the contraction was over. "You're doing great."

"I'm still mad at you," she hissed through her teeth.

They pulled up to the Emergency Room. The nurse who greeted them at the entrance was the same nurse they saw several days prior. She helped Miranda out of the car and into a wheelchair. "Welcome back," she said. "How are we doing today?"

"My water broke a few hours ago. I've been having contractions all day."

"Well that certainly sounds like labor," the nurse said as they got into an elevator up to a room.

Miranda reached out for Andrea's hand and squeezed tight as she endured another contraction. Once it passed, she turned to the nurse. "I want drugs," she said.

"Okay," she said. "I remember. I'll be sure to have the doctor come in right away. In the meantime, make yourselves at home. The traditional hospital bed is over there by the window, but you can see we have an array of items to ease discomfort throughout the labor and delivery. I know the exercise ball is popular with a lot of women, particularly leaning forward on it."

Miranda's eyes lit up at that suggestion. She certainly wasn't the type to go for alternative birthing methods, but if something could provide some relief until the epidural, that would be great.

"There's a dressing gown on the bed if you'd like, or if you prefer, you can stay in what you're wearing. I'll be back in shortly, but remember to breathe through your contractions and vocalize when they get stronger. Don't hold your breath."

Miranda thanked her and walked around the room while Andrea set down their bags. She sat on the edge of the large bed and leaned forward with her hands on her knees.

"Do you want some water or anything?" Andrea asked.

Miranda shook her head and brought her hand up to her mouth. Andrea recognized that motion all too well, though she had been okay for the past few months. She quickly led her into the bathroom and wrapped her arms around her waist as best as she could while Miranda heaved.

Walking back to the bed, Miranda had tears in her eyes. "Where is that fucking doctor?" she said as she sank down to the bed. "I can't do this. Andrea, I can't do this."

It was one of the few times Andrea had ever seen Miranda so defeated. "Come here," she said, crawling onto the bed and resting her head on the pillows. Miranda crawled up next to her, pausing for a minute as another contraction hit.

She curled up on her left side next to Andrea. "Oh god," she moaned, squeezing Andrea's hand tightly.

Andrea could see she was holding her breath. "Breathe, Miranda," she said, "Breathe out, don't hold it in."

Miranda pushed herself up onto all fours as she continued breathing and moaning. Andrea could hardly keep track of the contractions anymore, as they all seemed to blend into one another. She kneeled next to Miranda and began massaging her lower back as she continued to labor.

"Well, it certainly sounds like you're progressing nicely," the nurse said as she walked back in the room. "The doctor should be here shortly, but I just need to check your temperature and blood pressure, and then we'll do a quick fetal heart rate check. You can stay right where you are, in fact."

Miranda was oblivious to the nurse's hands, but Andrea heard the sigh of relief when the nurse announced that everything was doing just fine. When the nurse stepped out of the room, Andrea noticed Miranda's arms shaking as she was trying to hold herself up in that position.

"I have an idea," Andrea said, hopping off the bed and returning with an exercise ball. "Lean on this. Give your arms a break," she said.

Miranda laid on the ball and took a deep breath. "Thanks," she said, closing her eyes. Slowly, she began swaying back and forth.

"Does moving help?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Do you need a heating pack for your back?"

Miranda moaned loudly in pain again, and reached down, holding her belly. "I need to push. I need to push!" she cried.

"Not yet," Andrea said. "Deep breaths. In. Out. You can do this." Andrea was just about to call for the nurse, when she and the doctor walked in.

"Miranda, I'm Dr. Heather Grant. We were hoping your doctor would be available, but she's in the middle of a delivery and there were some complications. I'm up to speed on your file, so let's do a quick exam," she said as she eased Miranda onto her back. "I know this is an uncomfortable position for you, so I'll make it quick."

Andrea helped Miranda remove her underwear, and the nurse again checked her blood pressure, temperature, and fetal heart rate.

"Miranda, when did you start having contractions?" the doctor asked.

"This afternoon. They were very light. I didn't realize it until my water broke," she said.

"When was that?"

"About five or six hours ago," Andrea said.

"Well, Miranda, I imagine these contractions started a few days ago and you just didn't notice. You're already dilated nine centimeters, that's great."

Miranda moaned again, clutching Andrea's hand tightly. "Epidural?" she gasped between moans.

"I'm sorry, but it looks like your labor is progressing too quickly for that, Miranda. Do you have a preferred birthing position?" the doctor asked. Andrea watched as both she and the nurse began preparing a small cart of instruments.

Miranda howled and began crying and kicking.

Andrea wrapped her arms around the woman's shoulders. "Hey, in a few minutes, you're going to have your baby girl or baby boy in your arms. Was it more comfortable when you were kneeling?"

"I hate you!" Miranda screamed. "This is your fault! I hate you!"

Andrea blushed and looked over at Dr. Grant. "Hate is a strong word. Don't say that."

"I wanted to come earlier," she said. "You said 'no' and I CAN'T DO THIS!" she cried. "I'm pushing. I'm pushing. I can't take it."

Andrea jumped up on the bed behind Miranda once the doctor nodded. "Okay, Miranda, you can do this. I'm right here, deep breaths," she said.

"Miranda, with the next contraction, I want you to push as hard and as long as you can. Scream or cry or whatever you need to do, just don't hold your breath," Dr. Grant said.

Miranda nodded and leaned back against Andrea as she took a few deep breaths. In no time, she felt the next contraction and screamed.

"That's it, keep pushing," Dr. Grant said.

"You're doing great," Andrea said, softly kissing the side of her head. "You're so beautiful. I love you."

"That's it, Miranda. Hardest part is over. You've got the head out. Let's go, once more," Dr. Grant coached.

With one last push, a tiny wailing sound filled the room. Miranda slumped back against Andrea as the doctor laid the newborn on her chest.

"Oh Miranda, she's perfect," Andrea said, reaching over and touching the tiny hand.

"Andrea, I love you, too," she said, turning and kissing her softly.

"I'm so sorry you had to endure all this, Miranda. And I'm sorry for upsetting you last night, too. You're the most amazing woman in the world, and this little one is so lucky to have you as a mom."

Tears were running down Miranda's cheeks as gazed into her daughter's eyes. "And we are lucky to have her," she said. "Let's call her Catherine."


	24. Geisel

**Prompt from Aj: "Their honeymoon, um, a funeral, first night the baby is home, and a hostage situation!" -a hostage situation**

* * *

"Miranda, there's a call—"

"Andrea, can you not see I'm in the middle of a meeting?"

"It's Dalton. There was a shooting," Andrea said, closing her eyes and handing over the phone. Nigel quickly ushered the models out of the office, then gently led Miranda to the couch while she was demanding answers from the person on the phone.

"What do you mean I can't come pick them up?!" she screamed into the phone. Nigel and Andrea were still awkwardly standing in the office.

"I'm going to call Roy," Andrea whispered, heading back to her desk, then grabbing Miranda's coat and bag.

"A _hostage _situation?" she gasped. "But what—okay. Okay, thank you." Miranda closed her eyes as tears began to stream down her cheeks.

"Miranda," Andrea said softly. "Roy is downstairs for you."

The editor nodded, then accepted Nigel's offered handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "The police are there now. They evacuated all of the other students, except Cassidy's class. They've—he's—there are thirteen children in the—he's locked them in."

"Let's go," Nigel said.

"I—I can't. They said I can't."

"Then Roy can wait around the corner. Cassidy will want to see you when they let her go."

Miranda simply nodded and stood, walking out of her office as Andrea draped her coat over her shoulders. "Wait—my phone—"

"I've got it. Let's go," Andrea said.

Andrea followed Miranda out of the office and into the elevator. "Are you coming with?" Miranda asked.

"Yes."

Fifteen minutes later, they were parked along an an alley across from Dalton School. Andrea left the car to try and get some information from the police officers, but all she could find out was that they suspected the gunman was a former student, seeking some sort of revenge on his teacher. On Cassidy's teacher.

When she returned to the town car, she instantly knew she was interrupting a private moment, but for once, Miranda didn't seem to care.

"I love you so much, Bobbsey. I'm going to wait here for Cass, but you know I can't wait to get my arms around you—both of you. Yes, sweetheart, see you soon," she said as she ended the call. "Caroline is with her father."

"They're trying to negotiate with the gunman right now."

"He has a _gun_?"

"Yes, and they—" Andrea was suddenly interrupted by a series of four gunshots.

Miranda gasped and covered her mouth, her other hand wrapped around her waist as she bent forward. "I—I'm going to be sick," she said.

Andrea moved closer and gently began rubbing her back, tracing circles and trying to get the editor to calm down. She saw Roy jump out of the car and head towards the school, but Miranda hadn't even noticed.

"Cassidy will be here soon," Andrea said as she was text messaging Emily to cancel Miranda's meetings for the next few days. "She'll be here, and then Roy will drive you to pick up Caroline, and you'll all go home to the townhouse together tonight. They'll be safe there with you, and with Patricia guarding the door. We've cleared your schedule for a few days, so you can stay home with them, or maybe even take them away for a while. It's going to be okay," she reassured.

Miranda sniffled and sat up, causing Andrea to remove her hands and scoot over to the other side of the car. Miranda wiped the tears from her eyes, then reached for Andrea's hands. "I'm sorry, Andrea. I usually don't lose it like this."

"Don't worry about that," she said. "Is there anything else I can do for you right now?"

Miranda reached up and softly brushed the young woman's cheek. "I just want my girls in my arms," she said.

Andrea smiled. "I'm going to go out and see if I can get any more information, okay?"

When she headed back across the street, there was a growing crowd gathering just outside the police tape. "Excuse me—can we get an update on the situation? What were those shots?" Andrea asked a young officer.

"Ma'am, I can't say."

"Please? My boss's daughter is in there. Were any of the children hurt? Is the shooter still in there?"

Just as the officer was about to deny everything, a call came over his radio. _"She's still breathing. Get the EMTs in here now."_

Andrea quickly walked over to another officer and demanded answers. "Ma'am, we don't have details. The gunman is restrained, and the teacher is injured."

"What about the children?"

"They're gathered on the other side," he said, pointing toward the north end of the school.

Andrea sprinted to the other side of the building, and immediately spotted Cassidy. "Cass!" she cried.

"Andy?"

"Cassidy, are you okay?" Andrea asked, hugging the girl tightly.

"Yeah, but it was scary."

"Oh I'm sure. Your mom was so worried about you—she's waiting in the car," Andrea said, walking her back.

Miranda must have been watching out the window, because as soon as they came around the side of the building, Miranda jumped out, running to meet her, showering her with hugs and kisses.

Andrea said a silent prayer that Cassidy was unharmed, then sent Roy a quick text telling him she would take the subway home. Miranda would certainly want the time alone with her daughters.

Later that evening, Andrea was sitting on her couch watching the news coverage of the incident at the school. It was a senseless act, but luckily there were no fatalities and the gunman was in custody. As she turned off the television, she received a text message from Miranda: _Thank you for coming with me today. I don't know what I would have done. I'm sorry I didn't get to thank you in person. Will you join the three of us for lunch at the townhouse tomorrow at noon? -MP_

Andrea smiled and quickly responded: _I'm glad everyone is safe. See you at noon. -AS_

The next day, Emily was floored to learn Andrea was joining the Priestlys for lunch. "If you don't hear from me by three o'clock, Em, call the police," she said, teasing as she headed out to get a cab.

Promptly at 11:55, she arrived at the townhouse and was greeted by Caroline, who was apparently waiting at the door. "Thank you for helping Cass yesterday, Andy," the redhead said, giving Andrea a giant hug.

"Oh sweetheart, I didn't do anything. I'm just glad everyone is home safe," Andrea said.

"Mom said to hang your coat up in the closet."

Andrea smiled and did as she was indirectly told. Of course she would say that. She followed Caroline into the living room, where Miranda was curled up on the sofa with Cassidy. Andrea froze for a moment. Miranda had no makeup on, her hair was flat, and she was wearing fleece lounge pants and a cotton jersey long sleeve tee.

"Hi Miranda, hi Cassidy. How are you doing today?" she asked. When in doubt of what to say, she always relied on simple, friendly conversation. But today, it looked like that wasn't going to work.

Miranda looked up at Andrea and shook her head, holding her daughter tightly.

"Cass is really shaken up. She had a nightmare and now she refuses to sleep," Caroline whispered. "Mrs. Prindle died at the hospital last night."

"Should I leave?" Andrea asked quietly.

Miranda shook her head and gestured for her to join them on the couch. "Cass, baby, Andrea is here to see you. Can you say hello?"

Cassidy sat up, wiping her eyes. It was clear the young girl was exhausted. "Hey Andy," she said.

"I'm going to get you some water," Miranda said.

"Mountain Dew?" Cassidy asked.

"How about Sierra Mist?"

Cassidy shrugged and Miranda headed into the kitchen.

Andrea reached up and brushed the young girl's hair from her eye. "Cass, you know you need your sleep. It's not healthy to stay up like this," she said.

"But what if I dream about him again?"

"Why don't you lie down here," she said, patting her lap softly. "If you start to have a nightmare, I'll wake you up."

"'Kay," she said, laying her head gently on her lap.

Andrea pulled the throw blanket off the couch and draped it over the young girl, and in less than one minute she felt the girl fall asleep.

Miranda stopped when she walked in. Something about the way her girls clung to Andrea warmed her heart. "Thank you," Miranda said with a sigh. "I didn't think I could stay awake much longer myself."

"I'm fine sitting here with Cass if you want to run upstairs and take a nap," Andrea said.

"I might just close my eyes for a few minutes here," she said, curling up against the opposite side of the sofa. Caroline quickly climbed onto the couch between her mom and sister, cuddling against Miranda's side.

Several hours later, Andrea woke when she felt Cassidy clutching at her pants. "Hey, Cass, wake up," she said, shaking the young girl awake. "Was it another nightmare?" she asked as the young girl climbed up onto her lap.

"No—I don't remember. I was running."

"Hmm. I get dreams about running a lot. Most of the time I'm running like crazy away from your mom," Andrea said, eliciting a giggle from the young girl.

"But you don't really want to run from Mom, do you?" she asked.

"No, just in my dreams. But your mom also has horns and a tail and she breathes fire in my dreams, too, so maybe that has something to do with it."

"Do you have these dreams often, Andrea?" Miranda asked.

Andrea and Cassidy looked over the editor, half-awake on the other end of the couch.

"No, I'm not asleep," she said.

"Mom, can Andy sleepover tonight?" Cassidy asked.

"Yeah, can she, Mom?" Caroline begged.

"Girls, Andrea has a life outside of being my assistant. We cannot ask her to spend every minute of the day with us," Miranda said.

"If your mom is okay with it, I can stay over, but just this night. I have to be home tomorrow," she said.

"Can we all sleep in your bed again, Mom?" Cassidy asked. "Andy can keep us all safe."

Miranda and Andrea exchanged glances. "Yes, darling, that sounds fine. Girls, why don't you wash your faces before dinner," she said.

As they ran into the bathroom, Miranda turned to her young assistant. "Before you say anything," Miranda said, reaching over and cupping her cheek, "I can never repay you for what you did yesterday—keeping me grounded, calming me, and bringing Cass back… I don't want to think about what could have happened."

Andrea moved closer on the couch. "Can I hug you?" she asked.

Miranda rolled her eyes and pulled the young woman in a tight embrace. "Should I worry if you have one of your running-from-the-devil nightmares tonight?"

Andrea blushed. "No, uh, sorry. I just made that up for Cass."

"Hmm, I don't know if I believe that. Just know that if you so much as turn over, I'm not afraid to use my pitchfork," she said with a wink.


	25. Surgery

**Prompt from Anon: "here's one-andy has some serious surgery, and she writes to miranda hoping she'll finally respond."**

* * *

_Dear Miranda,_

_I know I said I would stop writing. You have to admit I've been really good about it for the past eighteen months. I'm still at The Mirror, but I've moved into a new two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with my best friend Doug. He spends most nights at his boyfriend's place, so I basically have the apartment to myself. I hope you and the girls are doing well. I miss you. _

_So, onto the reason for my writing today from New York Presbyterian. I just had a patch of hair shaved off my head in preparation for my surgery. I have a tumor near the base of my skull that is growing larger, and giving me severe headaches. They are doubtful it's cancer, but they won't know for sure until they can remove it. I am hopeful, but still…_

_Miranda, I need to say this in case I die today. I know I've said it before, but I need you to understand. I love you. I love you, Miranda Priestly. I can't explain how or why or when…I just know that when faced with death, all I can do is think of you. Of you not knowing the depth of my affection. I don't intend to be morbid, but I don't know what else to do. I can live with never seeing you again, with never touching you or hugging you. But I can't live with wondering if you didn't know. _

_Yours, always, _

_Andrea_

Miranda wiped her eyes and set the registered letter back on the kitchen counter. It was sent one week ago. Without thinking twice, she phoned the hospital.

"Andrea Sachs? Let's see…looks like she was just transferred out of Intensive Care this morning. I still don't have a room number in the system though, sorry."

Miranda hung up on the operator. Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest as she paced back and forth in her kitchen. For the past two years, she had been avoiding communication with Andrea. Her walls had crumbled too much, too quickly back in Paris. Without realizing, she let Andrea inside, then chased her out in a panic.

It turned out that Andrea's intentions were exactly what she was afraid of: the young woman had fallen in love with her. It wasn't to say that Miranda wasn't flattered, perhaps even intrigued a bit, however, she knew she was not suitable for the young woman who had her whole life in front of her. Miranda Priestly was the devil, the ice queen, a frigid bitch who couldn't even keep friends, let alone partners.

Before she knew it, she was in her Tesla, heading towards the hospital. She wasn't sure what she would say—or if she would say anything at all—but she knew Andrea at least deserved this visit. If for nothing else, so she could say goodbye in person.

The woman at the information desk directed her up to the fourth floor, and suddenly, Miranda found herself inches from the young brunette who haunted her dreams. Peering through the small window in the door, she saw her resting in the hospital bed, alone. Her eyes were closed, and she was hooked up to multiple machines, but it had to be good news that she was transferred out of ICU.

There was a gentle tap on her shoulder. She turned and peered at a young nurse who looked about Andrea's age. "Can I help you?" he asked.

Miranda looked at her watch—had she been standing there for forty-five minutes already? Shaking her head, she silently entered the room. She sat in the chair at Andrea's bedside and took her hand. The young woman looked weak and exhausted, and Miranda could only hope and pray that her health wasn't critical.

Some time later, she heard a soft tapping on the door and looked back, seeing a security guard peering through the window. She nodded and stood, bending over and pressing a feather-light kiss to the young woman's forehead, to her cheek, then to her lips. "I love you with all my heart, Andrea," she whispered before sneaking out of the room.

"I'm sorry, but we have to limit her visitation as she just came out of ICU. You can return after 9 AM tomorrow," the young nurse said. "Should I tell her you came by?"

"Please," Miranda said. "I didn't want to wake her. Tell her I will be back tomorrow. And—and tell her I love her."

"Miss, I'm sorry, but I don't think that's my place—"

"No. You will tell her Miranda was here, and Miranda said she loves her. Anything could happen. She needs to know. Please, promise me you'll tell her the minute she wakes?" Miranda asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"I will," he said.

Miranda nodded and left. The next morning, she went into the office early to take care of a few things, and promptly at nine o'clock, she had Emily hold all her calls as she ran down to the town car.

"Where to?" Roy asked.

"Presbyterian."

"Everything okay?" he asked as he pulled into traffic.

"I hope so," she said. "Please wait for me—I may be a few hours."

When she re-entered the room, Andrea was sitting up. It was remarkable how much more alive she looked with her eyes open. She immediately turned and looked at the door, and for several minutes, they simply gazed at each other.

"Hi Miranda," the young woman finally said.

"Oh, darling," Miranda said, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. She took Andrea's hands in hers and kissed them softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. The surgery went well. They said it was a meningioma, which is a sort of growth from my spinal column. It was putting pressure on my cerebrum, so they removed it."

"So, you're okay?"

"Yes," Andrea said with a smile. "I can go home tomorrow, actually."

"Come home with me," Miranda blurted out.

Andrea smiled. "Doug was going to take some time off work until I get settled, so you'll have to work that out with him. Kevin told me you came by last night."

"I did."

"He told me you were here for a while."

"I was."

"And he told me that you said you love me."

Miranda reached up and cupped Andrea's cheek. "I do, darling. I do," she said, pulling the young woman closer and kissing her hard.

When they broke for air, Andrea looked up, grinning. "If I knew it was this easy, I'd have written you a deathbed letter months ago," she said.

Miranda playfully hit her in the shoulder. "Don't you ever, _ever_ do anything like that to me again!"


	26. Assistance

**Prompt from Anon: "How about one like The X Ingredient, but different, maybe with Andy on the receiving end? thank you x"**

* * *

"Andy, it's your turn this month," Serena said.

"Huh? For what?" Andrea asked as she washed her hands.

"To _assist _her," Emily said, rolling her eyes as she finished applying another coat of mascara.

"OH. That. So, what do I do?" Andrea asked.

"First, you have to go get tested. She needs assurance that you don't carry any diseases. She will ask for your results, and from there, you do what she says," Serena said.

"Also, you must remain monogamous to her for the entire month, so no boffing Nate," Emily added.

"Uh, not to worry. Nate left."

Emily shrugged and returned to the mirror, this time with lip gloss.

"So, where does it happen?" Andrea asked.

"Anywhere. _You do what she says_," Serena said. "She likes the town car, the back room of the closet, and lately, her studio apartment in Brooklyn."

"And how do I know what she wants? Like where to touch her?"

Serena laughed. "You do not touch her unless she explicitly tells you_," _she said, "and relax, she actually speaks what's on her mind for the most part. If we're in the apartment, she ties me to the bed," Serena said. "Said something about my limbs being too long."

"Oh god," Andrea said, laughing and shaking her head. "I can't believe this is happening. So, uh, if you're tied up, how can you—I mean—?"

"Don't worry, she'll make it work. She sits on my face."

"What about you, Em?" Andrea asked. "Does she ever want, you know, fingers?"

"Depends. Lately, she's been into this strap-on. It's much quicker, really. It gets her off right away."

"But," Serena added, "if she's in a hurry, she'll make you wear it over your clothes, and that gets messy, so be sure to keep a change of clothes in your bag all the time."

Andrea frowned. "And why is it messy?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "Bloody hell, are you really that prudish? She gets wet—really wet—and you certainly can't show up to the office with her dried, sticky come all over your slacks!"

"Oh, uh, right," Andrea said, blushing.

"Jocelyn told me," Serena whispered, leaning closer, "that Miranda even wore the dildo with her, but that she pulled out as soon as Joce orgasmed."

"Wait, so I can't—you know?"

"No!"

"God no! Andrea, this is about _her pleasure_."

"And if I do something wrong? I mean, I've been here seven months already and never had to do this."

"We tried to keep you off the calendar. She insisted you finish the month of December."

"Who did it in Paris?" Andrea asked.

"No one! Can't you see that's why she's been a raging madwoman?" Emily said.

"Well," Serena said with a smile, "She might have been having it off with Jacqueline."

"Ooh, I forgot. That's right," Emily said.

"What?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "Whenever Jacqueline is in New York, she gives us time off," she said.

Just then, Andrea's phone rang. Seeing it was Miranda, she answered right away.

"Be ready at 7pm sharp. Roy will pick you up." The call ended as soon as it began.

"So, tonight at seven," she said. "That's six hours from now. Where can I go to get a test?"

"Here," Serena said, pulling a card from her purse.

"But, this is Miranda's doctor," Andrea said.

"Just tell them you work for Miranda. Call now, they should be back from lunch. Good luck!"

"And don't worry. She's actually…well, _nice_. You'll see."

Andrea took a deep breath. We'll see.

Before she knew it, she received a text from Roy that he was waiting downstairs. She had carefully packed a spare skirt and underwear in her bag. As the town car approached a generic-looking four-flat in Brooklyn, she received a text from Miranda: _I'll buzz you in. Third floor, end of the hall. _

When she made it upstairs, Miranda stood next to the open door as if it was a suite at the Four Seasons. Andrea kept her eyes down as she walked inside. Miranda shut and locked the door behind her.

Miranda was looking amazing today in a high-waisted pencil skirt and blouse. Andrea suppressed the thought of peeling that skirt off her body.

"Your results?" Miranda asked with her hand outstretched.

Andrea quickly pulled the envelope from her purse. When Miranda finished looking it over, she handed it back.

"You will have no other sexual partners during this time. You will not speak a word to anyone, including me. We do not discuss this. Safe word?"

"Huh?" Andrea asked.

"Apple," Miranda said. "If you need me to stop at any point, say 'apple'—that's your word." She watched as Andrea's eyes widened. "Andrea, I am not going to hurt you," she said. "Please don't be afraid to use it if you need to stop at any point. We will stop immediately, no questions asked. Do you have any questions?"

Andrea shook her head.

"Andrea, now is the time to ask. I won't give you this opportunity again."

"What if—what if I'm not good? If I can't please you?" Andrea said quietly.

Miranda grinned. "Darling, I have no doubts that you can offer me immense pleasure with very little effort. Don't be nervous. We'll go slow the first few times, finding what works best. When you're comfortable, things will pick up."

"Yes, Miranda."

"Let us begin. You will wear this," Miranda said, handing over a harness and strap-on. "Go on, take off your skirt and get on the bed." She turned around and unzipped her skirt, slowly peeling it off.

Andrea did as Miranda asked, and tried to hide her embarrassment. Her eyes were glued to Miranda's legs as she carefully rolled down her stockings.

"Scoot back," Miranda directed. "Lean against the headboard, and rearrange the pillows if you need," she said.

Andrea repositioned herself and closed her eyes. Her hands were at her sides and her feet were flat on the bed. She felt the mattress shift, and nearly jumped off the bed when she felt Miranda's cold hands on her legs.

"Relax," Miranda said softly. She straightened Andrea's legs out, softly massaging them before she straddled her. She reached over to the nightstand and squirted a few drops of lubricant onto her hands, then spread it over the exposed appendage. "Hmmm," she hummed in pleasure as she sank down onto the shaft.

Andrea's eyes were squeezed shut as Miranda rocked her hips in a fascinating rhythm. She slowed as she unbuttoned her blouse. Tossing it to the floor, she leaned forward and gripped the headboard just above Andrea's head. Her breathing grew ragged as her rhythm picked up. She began exhaling in short bursts, and soon, she collapsed atop Andrea.

Miranda felt the small body stiffen beneath her, and she pushed herself up, rolling off to the side. "See how easy that was?" she said. "Roy will drop you back at the office, or actually, why don't you just take a cab home?"

When there was no response, Miranda sat up and looked over at the young brunette, who had her hands covering her face. Miranda quickly wrapped her silk robe around her body, and kneeled next to her.

"Andrea, are you okay?" she asked, gently placing her hand on the young woman's forearm. She pulled Andrea's arm away from her face and was surprised to see she had been crying. "Andrea, open your eyes. Look at me," Miranda demanded.

Reluctantly, she did. And she certainly wasn't prepared for the kindness and warmth she met in Miranda's eyes.

"Andrea? Please say something," Miranda said.

"I'm sorry, Miranda. I—I just don't think I'm right for this," she said as she sat up.

Miranda took her hand. "I won't force you. I won't fire you."

"Why are you being so nice?" Andrea asked. She was trembling.

"Come here," Miranda said, opening her arms and hugging the young woman. "Shh, it's okay, I won't hurt you," Miranda said as she gently stroked her hair.

"I don't get it, Miranda. What is this? What's going on? What do you want from me? Why don't you just use a vibrator?"

"I don't know. It's not the same."

"Why did you want me this time?" Andrea asked.

"You've caught my eye several times over the past six months," she said, "and I believe I have caught yours, too, no?"

"So you want me? That's what it's about?"

"There's no need to complicate this. Just imagine it like a friends-with-benefits thing."

"But the rules and everything—"

"I made the no touching rule for Emily because she couldn't keep her hands off me when she started. The 'do as I say' one came about because Serena was becoming a bit too, uh, experimental."

"And the—uh, the—the orgasms? Jocelyn?"

"Oh, I forgot about that. She was grunting like a caveman one day and it was a bit too loud for the town car," Miranda said with a smirk.

"So it's not just about your pleasure?"

"Well it still is. It always was. But I find pleasure in other ways, too."

Andrea nodded. "I guess I should put my skirt on and get a cab," she said.

"Unless you'd like me to return the favor," Miranda said.

"Well, I guess I have time for that," Andrea said with a wink.

* * *

**A/N: I love Telanu's story and wouldn't want to try and replicate it, so the only idea I really went with from that is the idea that the ladies at ****_Runway _****have an unwritten job description. That being said, I wasn't happy where this was going, so it's kind of an abrupt ending, but oh well. enjoy!**


	27. Silent Treatment

**Prompt from margsmargrete: "Hi, If you're still taking prompts, I have one and hopefully you'll be writing a story with this. Prompt: Andy and Miranda had been married. They were having a fight that lead to silent treatment for about 1 week. None of them spoke a single word. If so, they'll ask someone to pass the message for them."**

* * *

"Caroline, tell your mother I will be home late because of a meeting."

"But Andy! Why can't you just tell her yourself? She's right here."

"See you tonight, sweetie," she said, ending the call.

One week later, Andrea's boss handed her a post-it: _Miranda called, said you need to take out the trash. _

"Sachs, what's going on?"

"Nothing," she said, crumbling the piece of paper and tossing it in the trash. She picked up the phone and dialed Miranda's office. "Hey Em, tell Miranda to go to hell, okay?"

"What? No, I shan't. You'll have to tell her yourself. I am staying out of this!"

"Transfer me to Nigel, Em."

"Hello?"

"Hey, Nige!"

"Six! What can I do for you?"

"Give Miranda a message—tell her I said to go to hell," she said.

"Whoa there, what happened?"

"It's nothing. I—she—she went behind my back again."

"How so?"

Andrea sighed into the phone, then explained how, last week, Miranda told her parents that they were going to try having a baby.

"Oh Six, you?" he asked.

"No. Miranda, actually. I—I can't."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is this why you're not talking?"

"Sort of. My mom doesn't know, and she keeps calling me and emailing me all this crap about fertilization and artificial insemination."

"Oh, I see. Okay, so any other loving message you'd like me to pass along to your wife?"

"Nope. Thanks, Nige. You're the best."

Minutes later, Nigel walked into Miranda's office and passed along the message.

"Well, tell Andrea that she's being childish," Miranda said. "And tell her I'll explain to her mother if it bothers her so much."

"No you won't. You can't go behind her back again. Talk to Andy."

"Miranda, I have Patrick," Emily called.

Nigel nodded and stepped out, closing her door.

Two days later, Caroline called Miranda's office.

"Hi Emily, do you know what time my Mom is going to be home tonight?"

"No, I don't. Would you like me to ask?"

"No! We have something planned. Something to get Mom and Andy talking again. Can you make sure Mom leaves before six? We'll have Roy text when he's on his way."

"Thank god. I can't take passing messages anymore. I'll be sure she's home in time. Oh," Emily said, "don't do anything stupid, alright?"

"Don't worry. But, uh, if Mom asks you to call 9-1-1 because Cass is sick, don't do it."

Emily smiled, "I shan't."

At the townhouse, Cassidy and Caroline prepared. Since Cassidy was going to pretend to be sick, she changed into her pajamas and began running up and down the stairs to work up a sweat. Caroline adjusted the bedroom lock and if they were lucky, their moms would be talking to each other in an hour or two.

When they received the text from Roy, Cassidy crawled into bed. Caroline had some tissues and a glass of 7-up with a straw on the nightstand. For added effect, Caroline ran a washcloth under hot water and draped it across Cassidy's forehead.

"I'm home," Miranda called out as she shut the front door.

"Mom?" Caroline called, running to the top of the stairs. "Mom, Cass is really sick. She's got a fever, and I'm scared," she said.

Miranda sprinted up the stairs and sat on the bed next to her daughter. "Cassidy, what's going on? Oh my god, you're burning up!"

"I'm cold, Mom," Cassidy said, shivering as she pulled the blanket up to her neck.

"Caro, get my phone," Miranda said. "Bobbsey, let me get you a fresh cool cloth."

As Miranda laid the cool cloth on Cassidy's forehead, she took her cell phone and called Andrea.

"Miranda?"

"Cassidy is sick—will you be home soon?"

"Sure, sure. I'll grab a taxi right now. What's wrong?"

"I don't know. She has a fever, and—just come home."

Fifteen minutes later, Andrea was running up the stairs to Cassidy's room and joins Miranda on the bed. "Cassy, what's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I just don't feel good," she moaned.

"Miranda, do you think we should take her to the emergency room?"

"I—I don't know. Honey, does your stomach hurt? Have you been throwing up?"

"No," Cass said. "My whole body hurts."

"When did it start, sweetie?" Andrea asked.

"Right when she got home from school," Caroline said. "I brought her some 7-up and cool cloths."

"I have to go to the bathroom," Cassidy said, crawling out of bed.

"I'll go make sure she's okay," Caroline said, running out to the bathroom. She shut and locked the bathroom door, then ran out to the hallway and shut and locked the bedroom door, effectively locking Andrea and Miranda in the room.

"I think we should take her to the ER," Miranda said.

"Her fever seemed to have gone down, you know. Maybe we can give her some Tylenol and let her get some rest," Andrea said.

Miranda reached down and grabbed Andrea's hand. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It isn't your—oh. That."

"I shouldn't have said anything. It wasn't my place."

"No, it wasn't."

"Darling, I didn't know that you hadn't told your mother about the fibroids. I thought, albeit incorrectly, that she knew. I was so relieved she was actually having a civil conversation with me, I just didn't think. I'm sorry."

Andrea sighed. "You're going to sit with me when we tell her the truth, okay?"

"Of course," Miranda said, wrapping her arms around her wife and kissing her softly. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Andrea said.

"What do you say we take a nice little trip to Ohio in a few months? Maybe then we can tell her that she'll still be getting that grandbaby."

"Yeah…Wait," Andrea said, looking up at Miranda. "How long—that was on the fourth, and now it's—"

Miranda smiled. "It's been sixteen days. I went back for the blood test yesterday. It's still too early to tell anyone else, but…we're pregnant."

"Oh my god!" Andrea squealed, hugging Miranda tightly as tears threatened to fall.

Then, from the bathroom, they heard the toilet flush. "Cassidy, are you okay?" Andrea asked, suddenly remembering why they were there.

The young girl responded with a giggle. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm not sick. We just wanted you two to talk to each other."

Miranda caught Andrea's eye and pressed her finger to her lips. "Don't say anything to them yet. I don't want them to be disappointed if…"

Andrea nodded, and tried to open the bathroom door, but it was locked. Miranda tried the main door, but it, too, was locked. "Cassidy! Caroline!" Miranda called. "Open these doors."

"Not until you two kiss and make up," Caroline said with a snicker.

Miranda winked at Andrea and squeezed her hand. "If you don't unlock this door right now, Andrea and I will be passionately _kissing_ and _making up _in your bed, Cassidy."

"Eew!" the girls groaned and unlocked the door. "Don't even joke about that," Caroline said.

Miranda smiled and tugged Andrea down the hall into their bedroom. "This is the only door that should be locked," Andrea said with a giggle as Miranda tossed her onto the bed.


	28. Inheritance

**Prompt from mxrolkr: So if you're still needing or wanting prompts I thought of another one; established long term Mirandy - Andrea inherits something that Miranda is having a hard time coming to terms with accepting.**

* * *

"Oh, darling, a strange box was delivered for you today. I had to show my ID when I signed. Were you expecting something?"

"No. That's weird. Where is it?"

"I left it on the table in the front sitting room. I'm sorry, I totally forgot about that."

"No worries," Andrea said. "I'm just going to run down and grab it, okay?"

She retrieved the package and headed back up to the bedroom, where Miranda was washing her face before bed. Sitting on the sofa by the fireplace, she carefully opened the mysterious package.

Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she recognized the familiar smell. She picked up the notecard carefully placed atop the box's contents.

_Andy, Aunt Sophie finally got around to clearing out Granddad's place. He always wanted you to have this. Sorry it took so long to get to you—had to ship through a licensed collector. Talk soon. Love you, Mom_

Andy wiped her eyes as she dug through the packing peanuts and pulled out her granddad's Flintlock Derringer. She quickly assembled it and closed her eyes. It smelled like him, and like their farm in Texas.

"Darling, what was it?" Miranda asked, coming around to the sofa. "Oh god!"

"It's my granddad's Flintlock," she said, showing Miranda the gun.

"What—why?"

"My aunt finally cleaned out my grandparents' house, and he always wanted me to have this. He used to take me out shooting on the farm when I would visit as a kid," Andrea explained.

"Andrea, please put that down."

"Huh?" she said, puzzled. Miranda glared at her and pointed to the table. Andrea carefully set it down. "It's not loaded. It's against the law to ship ammunition with a firearm."

"Andrea, I have never had a firearm in this house," Miranda said.

"But—this is just a memento, like a picture, but more vivid. We don't even have shells for it."

"Andrea, I will not waver on this."

"Are you seriously making me choose between you and this memory of my granddad?"

Miranda sighed and put her head in her hands. "No. No, I'm not trying to say— I get that it's a memory, and that you cherish it. You've spoken of your granddad, and I would have loved to have met him. But Andrea, the girls are still young. There are enough people who go in and out of this house—I just can't take that risk."

"Does it bother you that I've shot it before? That my family's idea of fun is going out to the back fence of the farm and shooting haystacks?"

"No, darling. In the proper—_nonviolent_—setting, I don't have a problem. It's just, in my house…"

Andrea picked up the gun, disarmed it, and set it back in the shipping container. "Okay," she said, turning and taking Miranda's hands.

"Darling, I'm sorry, I overreacted. I know your family is important to you," Miranda said as she pulled her wife in for a hug. "I could look into getting a sort of secure display case installed in the study if you want."

Andrea turned in her arms. "You would do that?"

"Of course."

"Oh Miranda, I love you so much," she said.

"But for the present time, let's put it in the safe in the closet. Tomorrow, we can take it to the safety deposit box at the bank until we have something installed. Will that work?"

"Yes, it's perfect."


End file.
